Martin the Second
by Brocktree
Summary: After the incident that changed Martin's life, great expectations quickly dissolved into gruesome vendettas. In an effort to regain Redwall's trust, he must steal back the very essence that made Redwall a safe haven to all.
1. Martin the Second

_I remember being upset with the plot of Pearls of Lutra, and more prominently, upset with the Character **M**artin **t**he **S**econd. His father, and father before him were both great, believable, and flawed characters, while MtS was dangling on the edge of the ideal warrior; something that upset me to no end for quite a while. Now, I haven't written much of anything in the past year and a half, so I'm probably going to be rusty... then again... my old stuff will probably be more derogatory than the new. If it's not, then I don't know what's happened in the past 1 & ½ years._

_I do not own Redwall, and yes, this alters canon._

A Crescent moon hung over the misted treetops of Mossflower below which emanated casual flickers of light along a dusty path. The trees contrived colossal shadows over a lone figure traveling the road, a mouse, clad in black vesture with an exquisite looking sword sheathed and strapped to his back. A belt hung loosely around his waist like a lop-sided halo, and clipped to it was a small pouch that jingled with every step he took.

The mouse looked up and saw a cabin in the distance. Faint light seemed to radiate from it's windows to the adjacent trees.

'Must be an inn,' thought the mouse.

He slowly ambled up to it's door and knocked. The high pitched sound of a flute iterated from inside the cabin as a small slot in the door slid away, and a pair of black beady eyes took it's place. They studied the mouse for a moment before the beast sporting them spoke. "State your business, mouse."

The mouse spoke, strength casting from his voice as he did. "I'm a simple traveler seeking shelter and some hospitality. This is an inn, is it not?"

The beast behind the door grunted and the sound of the door unlocking could be heard. The door creaked as it opened, and the music inside became more prominent, being joined by a drum and rhythmic applause.

A short fox stepped from behind the door while pushing away some crudely carpentered wooden steps.

He opened to door to let out a very lively scene. On a platform near the middle of the inn, there was a band playing. There was a flutist, and a drumer as he had heard, but now he saw two twin squirrelmaidens, both garbed in matching yellow pinafores, dancing with rhythmic adherence to the music. Most of the audience, probably slightly drunk, were concentrated on this as they hooted in amusement. A single chandelier in the middle of the room gave light to the whole scene.

The fox held out his paw to shake paws with the mouse. "Names Lucaro, nice to meet you, Mr. um?"

The mouse returned his pawshake, smiling. "Martin, son of Mattimeo."

The fox shook his head. "Wouldn't act too friendly 'round here. Our type get trampled on."

Martin raised a brow. "Our type?"

"Oh, you know, those short of stature, weak in general," The fox looked behind Martin. "Nice sword."

"Thanks," Martin noticed the fox steal a furtive glance at his gold pouch, then thought worse of the fox, but sighed, realizing that he was being much too cynical of him. After all, did he not just warn him to watch his back here?

Martin sat down at the bar on the far end of the inn, away from the group of beasts playing in the front. A small candle illuminated the bar and it's bartender. He sighed and ordered a glass of cider from the bartender, a rough looking brown squirrel nearing the end of his seasons. Though his tail, streaked with gray, was quite bushy. He must have attracted many maidens in his prime. An authoritative air hung about the two as the squirrel held his head high.

The squirrel sat the glass of cider next to Martin and studied him, as the fox had done, but without the scrambling eyes, but instead of a more gentle type. "Don't see many of your type around here."

_There it was again._

Martin sipped on the bottle. "My type?"

The squirrel took a bottle and began to clean it with a rag. "Oh you know, innocent. Just traveling through. Most of the beasts you see here are here daily. Sometimes for business, sometimes to get drunk, and sometimes to stay for a night."

Despite the squirrel's terse tone of voice, Martin felt comfortable with him. It probably was the gentleness in his eyes eliciting the feeling within him. The old are wise and knowledgeable, and Martin learned to trust them when he was young. His grandfather, Matthias, had taught him many life lessons in his youth. Even things his own father had over looked.

_It's the little things that define the beast, Martin. Not the big. Sure, the big have an important part, but it's the little things that build the connecting bridges in between them. Being kind to a stranger, especially your peers, is a little thing. For later in life, he could be an Abbot!_

Martin sighed and took another sip of the cider, then looked back up to the benevolent eyes of the stranger. "I am from Redwall, do you live here?"

The squirrel smirked. "Sometimes. Say, one of my grandchildren live in Redwall I think. I'm not too sure, since I have more than I can count twice over on all four paws!"

Martin chuckled heartily. His guesses weren't half bad after all. "Aye, big family?"

"Oh yes; come here to get away from them. I believe that the particular grandchild is named... um... Iracus, or something. His mom was a flying squirrel, you know, with the arm to leg flaps," The squirrel twirled his paw in the air and Martin nodded. "And his father was a son of mine."

"A flying squirrel? I only know of one at Redwall... Icarus. Is that who you're thinking of?"

"Ah, he's the one. Loved his mom, she's my son's wife, well, she was anyway." The squirrel frowned and deep creases formed on his forehead.

Martin's whiskers drooped and his eyes seemed to glaze over as he looked at his reflection in the stillness of the cider. "Ah, yes. Was. She was one of the beasts who..."

"No need to say anymore, yes she was. These are trying times friend. Say, why have you left Redwall?"

"To find someone."

The old squirrel grinned and a shimmer of light sparked in his eyes. "For love? I did that once... found a few more than I bargained for!"

Martin's reflection had become grave. Dual shadows slid maliciously down his eyes. "Perhaps it was love once, though not of the intimate type. Now it's different."

The squirrel turned his back to Martin and poured another bottle of cider, the liquid flowing, it's appearance like sweet glittering nectar as it cascaded from the bottle to the glass. "I'm confused. Enlighten me, please."

As Martin was about to speak again, howling emanated throughout the room, followed by a loud pounding. The music ceased as everybeast in the room spun around to where the sound had originated to find that the fox that had been guarding the door was sprawled out on the ground, with his paws holding his head. In the doorway itself stood a large brown furred stoat who was cloaked in blue corsair's vesture. He held up a large scythe as he scanned the room.

"The name is Orion the Deathtiller," The stoat's face remained passive as eyes continued to rake the room over. "And I've come here for the reward on The Incubus's head. I know he's here, in this little inn, so which one of you beasts will confess?"

The whole inn sat flabbergasted and static. Beasts began to glance around the room, looking toward each other for help laden with countenances of despair and confusion.

The stoat smirked. "Okay then, will it help to say that I've the whole inn surrounded by three score beasts, ready and willing to kill anyone I order dead? The fifty-thousand gold reward on his head seems a good enough reason to kill everybeast, but I'll give you a chance first."

A hare immediately stood up. "You're bluffing, sah!"

The stoat crossed his arms and cleared his throat. He looked skyward. "Joking haha! Give 'em the warning shot!"

Suddenly, the breaking of glass could be heard, and an arrow cut through the air to land with a resolute thump near the hare's ears. The hare stood in shock. The stoat laugh seemed to echo throughout the room.

"As I said, out of those windows stands three score beast ready to kill on my command. Now that we've got that settled, let's get back to business." The stoat paced around the room, observing everybeast carefully. "They say that The Incubus strikes terror into the hearts of everybeast he meets. The ones he shows mercy to are subtly tortured for the rest of their lives in their nightmares."

The old squirrel piped up. "I see no beast that matches your description. The only beast striking terror is you!"

The stoat looked the squirrel over. "Hmm, I'm not one to massacre for fun like The Incubus; I'd rather for profit."

The stoat suddenly flicked his arm, and a lustrous object flew like a blur through the air. Martin thrust his paw out and caught the object in mid flight: A dagger with a handle shaped like a halo.

Orion's passive face quickly became distorted and transfixed. He seemed to trip over thin air and landed on his bottom. "That's impossible! H-h-how did you do that?"

Martin's eyes never wavered as they subtly bore into the Stoat's conscience. Orion stood up, legs wobbling uncontrollably, and beckoned again. "How did you do that?"

Martin's trance suddenly disappeared as he put on a quizzical face and looked at the knife in his paw. "Luck, seems like it. I figured that a cut paw would be much better than a dead squirrel." He winked.

Orion regained his compose and grunted. "Well, The Incubus isn't here then, damn."

Martin nodded. "Take your men and leave peacefully, there's no need for fighting. It'll just cause pandemonium."

Orion ruffled his headfur. "Ah, hell's gates, should have never trusted the bird. Dammit." He took one last look at Martin, then turned to leave.

Right as Orion opened the door, Martin shot one last question, "Orion, who is this bird and why is he so far down south in the summer?"

"The little eye in the sky is named Hides-his-Beak," Orion shot up a paw into the air, then twisted his head around back to face Martin. "Said he's here for migration from the north, but I know that's a lie as well. If you ever find him alive, do me a favor, wring his neck for wasting my time, that is if I don't see him first." With that, Orion slammed the door shut.

It didn't take long for the music to start up again, but Martin could tell that the dancers seemed to dance with a little less enthusiasm, perhaps even a little more skittish. He asked the squirrel for another glass of cider, and almost instantly another glass slid down the bar into his welcoming paws.

The squirrel addressed Martin, voice quavering slightly, but controlled. "That's the third time this season something like this has happened. Though, this is the first time I've almost met my death. But business must continue, and I must continue to serve."

"You're wrong," Martin set the knife down on the table. "Based on the projection of the knife, if it would have kept going, it would have passed you by nearly two paws lengths to your right. It was thrown as an intent to scare, not as an intent to kill. I couldn't find that in him."

"What do you mean?"

Martin leaned back in his seat and seemed to study the ceiling of the bar. "There's a lot you can see in a beast through their eyes, after all, is it not a window to the soul? Instead of a murderer's eyes, I saw that of a beast knee deep in poverty, though not to suggest he was, they just looked sad... dark. Also, I could tell he had only a few with him, an archer, pikesbeast, and swordsbeast from their silhouettes in the windows. Eh, actually, I didn't see the archer until he fired that arrow."

The bartender closed his eyes in silent repose. "You have a strange way of settling things stranger."

Martin laughed softly. "There was no real danger here. After all, nearly everybeast in this inn is armed. The dancers have daggers tucked in their dresses, the band all have swords, except the drummer, he has an ax in his breeches. Everybeast in the audience has something or another, including their cutlery. So everybeast here is armed, except you." Martin pointed at the squirrel.

The squirrel was speechless and he looked to be struggling to find something to say. "You're an observant one."

Martin sighed and shook his head. "I have to be, for what I've been through these past few seasons."

"What exactly have you been through?"

Martin hesitated, once again looking deep into his cider. "Enough to change a beast, that's all I'll say."

"I understand. Do you intend to stay for the night? Room's on the house."

"No thanks, I'm an outdoor person, ya know?" Martin finished the glass of cider and stood up. "Do you serve breakfast here?"

The squirrel winked. "For you, free."

Martin held up both paws and set them on the table. "Okay then, I'll be back in the morning, and thank you friend."

"No, thank you."

With that, Martin strode right out into the night. He picked an open area outside the inn and laid down to rest. He breathed in the night air, feeling a sense of complete relaxation overwhelm him underneath the night sky, laden with it's stars which drew out intricate constellations. He scanned them, picking out familiar ones.

_Ah, the fox. Hmm, looks like The Steed is shining bright tonight. Oh, and there's The Warrior, grandfather's favorite. He told me once that only legends are etched into the stars. I wonder if Martin the Warrior is anywhere to be found._

Suddenly, his daydreaming ceased when he heard the sound of rusting bushes. Sensing danger, he jumped straight up and gripped his sword handle, ready to unsheathe it at any moment. "Who goes there, friend or foe?"

For a moment a heavy silence hung in the air, until a slight breeze of cold air sauntered its way past Martin, causing his whiskers to sway in accordance with the wind. It was then the stranger spoke, " We've finally found you, Martin the Incubus! Prepare for your death!"

Something bright flew from the bushes toward Martin, who instinctively dodged it and let it fall onto the ground. It was a little small round sphere with a small fuse attached to it.

Once again the voice sounded. "It's over Incubus!"

As Martin's attention was quickly diverted to the voice's origin, but not a moment later another sound was heard.

_Wssssssss._

By the time Martin had turned back to the object, it was too late. A cloud of smoke held him in it's unforgiving embrace, weakening him with every passing moment, causing his limbs to give away. He quickly collapsed to the ground, coughing and sputtering. Finally, his body went limp and fell in a heap on the ground. Just as his vision began to fade, he saw the legs of a stoat appear from the bushes.

The Stoat, with a strange mask on, leaned over Martin, making eye contact with him. His voice seemed to echo through Martin's head. "We'll let Redwall decide what to do with him. Tie him up and gag him, we don't want him to be heard when he wakes. After all, how often does a gang of travelers keep a mouse captive for a good cause?"

And as a great whooping and hooting filled the air, Martin blacked out.

_Remember to review, I mean, even a sentence saying you read it and you thought it was good/bad can go a long way for a writer's morale. Though, if you think it was bad and you don't like it, please don't say this **unless **you tell me something I can improve on. Be a critique, that's all I'm asking for, and if you don't have the time, leave a sentence. :_)

_And if you didn't know, you don't have to have a username to leave reviews to the site. So if you would, review... Review. Review. Review. Review. The button isn't even a single scroll away._


	2. Waxed Wings

_Jarrtail: I've decided to deviate from Brian's Canon a bit... you'll be able to tell soon. Mind you, I'll have the explanation for your 'smoke bomb' later on. It's the first hint at the story's future setting. It's not so 'futuristic' as it is just different. When I'm done, it'll be for you to decide if I did a good job on that._

_Anonymus: You've never read a fanfiction portraying the story of MtS? Well, HEY ME EITHER! So that makes two of us, eh? My first story is still posted on the site, and since then I've read about 100 iterations of the same idea, some winning some failing, which is partially why I quit writing it in the first place. Ever since I read Pearls of Lutra (second to last book of the series read), I thought: Hey, if I'm ever going to write another fan-fiction, then MtS is going to be the main character... so yeah, he's the protagonist!_

_Poncho D: Thanks for the review, and hey, you did a good job on 'The Other Secret' and, funny story, I had read that story when it was first advocated and written by you a while back, but by then I had sort of quit writing reviews totally, but I've kept to reading fanfiction... so meh. Thanks for the Brian comment as well, it's awesome to be compared in anyway to Brian, despite the fact that I know I'm not up to his level...yet._

_Scyphi: This sentence states that I appreciate your review, and look forward to you looking forward to reading more and reviewing more. This sentence states nothing._

_So, without futher ado, let's get on with the story. Introducing the line of death:_

* * *

Icarus the flying squirrel studied his reflection in the Abbey Pond under the shade of a magnificent old oak. A leaf fell like a feather from the oak which overlooked the pond. Twirling and gliding slowly, it landed on Icarus's reflection, distorting it with a slight ripple of water. Some days, when his chores were done and when he had nothing to do, he'd come out to the pond to look into his reflection, trying to piece together what his parents looked like, or just simply ponder life's issues.

They told him that his mom came to Redwall in mid-winter, starving and nearly frostbitten by the cold. He was bundled in her arms, neck deep in warm blankets, asleep, and only a single season old. They told him that never before had a flying squirrel lived at Redwall. His mother had only lived for two seasons at Redwall before she passed away; not nearly long enough for him to gain that natural curiosity of one's roots that comes with age. Thus, he didn't know a father, except his adoptive one that took him in after his mother died.

He gazed deep into his lazy, half closed blue eyes as the last ripple of water departed, and his reflection had become undistorted. Perhaps, one day, his identity would be like this: clear. A gentle breeze slid through his fur, instilling in him a felicitous feeling. He stood up, consoled, and brushed the dark morass off his habit.

A voice in the distance hailed him, "Icarus!" It was his guardian mother, Tess.

Icarus smiled one last time at his reflection in the pond before leaving the shade of the old oak and looked over to Tess. She was garbed in the usual green habit, save there was no hood, and her fur was naturally gray, and had yet to gain any white streaks. As they approached each other, Tess's countenance filled with a hearty smile.

The two hugged when they met. "Your father decided to go help the otters and squirrels cut a few trees in preparation for winter. I told him that he needed to rest after fishing for two days with Matthias, but you know your father. Thinks he still has the vigor of his youth, and I did remind him how he's getting on in the seasons, but he just won't listen.

Icarus chuckled. "I know mum, he's as stubborn as an otter."

Tess frowned at her son. "Now you know that that comment isn't appreciated Icarus."

Icarus bit his lip. "I'm sorry, but it is true. Once they have their mind set on something, it's hard to take it off."

"Especially Cheek." Tess widened her eyes in surprise and cupped her paws to her mouth.

Icarus crossed his arms and expressed a devious side grin, eyebrow arched, and head cocked downward. "See, you think so too."

Tess cleared her throat. "Make you a deal, you go help your father cut down trees tomorrow, and I promise to have a great feast for the both of you when you get home tonight, but remember, don't tell your father about it. Now, meet him outside the Abbey gates and ask him what he's doing. After he tells you, offer to help him. Is that clear?"

Icarus put on a serious face and saluted Tess. "Yes Mam!"

Tess laughed, and hugged Icarus once more before departing.

* * *

The sun's bright fiery orb peaked it's head over the horizon, casting threads of light through the lower foliage. Shadows lowered their heads as the sunlight towered over them. A new day had begun at Redwall, though, it began just like any other. Everybeast found themselves down in the kitchens eating breakfast, except a small troop who had already gotten their fill and were outside the Abbey walls, ready to execute a full day's work.

Mattimeo was canvassing various trees to see what would make passable firewood. "This shouldn't be hard, it just should take some time," he said to the otters. " Finding the trees will be the easy part, but bringing them home, piece by piece, will probably take all day."

Cheek, the Skipper of Otters, nodded in agreement. "Aye it should. But you leave the tree skimmin' to me mate. I'll have you all trees of grand caliber in no time."

Mattimeo crossed his arms. "Don't rush into anything Skipper. Remember, quality and quantity. And we can't cut anything near the path. It needs to be in the woodlands with no homes around or anything."

Cheek had ignored half of what was said and was already nearing the woodlands. "Enough with your gabberin', let's go mates! Life's a wastin', that's what my pater Basil used to say."

"Is it possible for an otter to run that fast?" asked an otter in the group.

Mattimeo chortled. "Aye, it's nothing for ol' Cheek. The seasons yet have to catch up with him. Though, if he doesn't slow down soon, I fear that one day he'll find himself plodding through quicksand."

"Father!"

Mattimeo looked up at the walls to see Icarus waving to him. "Hmm? What do you need son?"

"Where are you headed?"

"We're off to go hunting for some firewood to store during the winter, why?"

"Can I come help?"

Mattimeo couldn't help but blink twice after the strange offer. "Son, don't you have chores to do?"

"No, today is the last day of the week, I don't have a thing to do. And I don't really want to sit around all day. Plus I don't like to pass up any chance I get to go into Mossflower."

Mattimeo hesitated. "You sure you don't have anything else to do? I mean, we'll be out here all day, and I don't have an extra lunch packed, and we might not be home in time for supper."

"I can live a day without food, 'sides, there are berries to eat!"

Martin looked up at Icarus and sighed. "Fine, if you're that determined to go."

Without another word, Icarus darted down the side steps and through the gatehouse doors to meet Mattimeo, but instead of stopping, he turned toward the woodlands, still running hard. "Hurry, let's catch up to Skipper!"

Mattimeo shook his head at his son's slight rashness. As he began a brisk walk toward the woodlands, troop in tow, he muttered, "And he'll be the one to follow Cheek into the quicksand."

* * *

The sun's head was high in the sky now, and only obscure shadows remained as they cowered low in the foliage. A cool breeze was sweeping Mossflower wood, passing through the shadows, through and around the crags. And finally, it came to gently press it's cool body against a passerby, an otter, who was closely inspecting every tree around him. To a bird he would have appeared to be in a bald spot of the woods, which just contained grass and very little flora.

"This 'ere is good quality timber, wonder if it's cuttable." Cheek rubbed his paw against a massive elm, but then looked around, realizing it was much too close to the path nearby.

Icarus had finally caught up. Panting and puffing, he hailed Cheek. "Hey, don't cut that, it might roll down hill and into the road!"

Cheek held out his paws innocently. "I 'ave no axe. Plus, this spot is too scarce of the trees themselves. The land should be nurtured, not neglected. Otherwise, how'd we survive?" Cheek paused, patting the tree, then looked at Icarus. "Say, what are you doin' 'ere?"

Icarus grinned. "Came to help, mum said I could." Icarus picked into the pocket of his habit and showed Cheek an ax. "You can use it, you'd make better use of it."

Cheek gratefully took the axe while ruffling Icarus's headfur. "Thanks mate. Ah shouldn't of rushed into the task without the proper equip first, eh wot?"

Icarus stifled a chuckle. Cheek's accent fluctuated between an otter and a hare quite often, and sometimes in the same sentence, which made for a pretty odd combinations at times.

"Okay then, chin up, chest out, alert, always looking for that tree. That's the ticket!" Cheek put up the ax in a salute, but noticed Icarus wasn't even paying attention. He seemed to be staring through him.

"Travelers." Icarus muttered as he pointed over Cheek's shoulder, far off into the distance toward a rising cloud of dust. "A lot of 'em too. That's not normal at this time of year."

Cheek turned around and studied the cloud, his eyes promptly widening in surprise. "Dust welt up that big either means a caravan... or an army."

Icarus tugged on Cheek's shirt. "C'mon then, let's go check it out!" He began to sprint toward the cloud.

Cheek reached out his arm to catch Icarus, but missed. "Wait, they'll see us!" He dashed toward him, gaining on him, but Icarus already had a good head start and was already in sight of the caravan. Both Cheek and Icarus crouched into some low lying bushes that were laced with tendrils. They peered through the foliage, observing what appeared to be simple travelers.

Icarus was the first to comment. "Wow, they're all stoats. Not a rat or fox in sight."

"Aye," Cheek pointed toward the group. "And look at what they're tuggin' behind 'em."

Cheek had pointed to a brown furred stoat who carried a lengthy rope. At it's end was a lone prisoner, tied and gagged.

Both hesitated at the sight, and once again Icarus was the first to act. "I'll take a closer look, you stay here." Without another word, he sprinted up a tree and ran along it's bough. He squinted to see any new details the climb had entailed. It presented none, and he still couldn't tell who the prisoner was.

Cheek was called up to him in a hushed voice, though twined with worry. "Icarus, get down here before they see you!" Cheek was calling up to him in a hushed voice,

Icarus shook his head. "Nah, I've got to get even closer if I'm to see anything!"

He deftly jumped from bough to bough, all while keeping quiet by falling through his landing, as he was taught by squirrel climbers at Redwall.

The caravan was quite literally only about a stone's throw from him now. From the cool of the shade, he glanced down at the caravan. When he spotted the prisoner, his face went white.

_He was a mouse!_

This realization shook him; they must be slavers! Upon closer inspection, he saw that the rope holding the prisoner was tied around his neck, in addition to a blindfold. Behind him, two stoats were prodding him with spears.

Icarus's ears perked up when he heard a deep voice echo in the direction of the group. "Remember, Redwallers are peaceful folk, so you tie this prisoner up out of sight when we arrive, and I'll do the talkin'. We can't let 'em know we 'ave 'em, or they'll attack us.

Another stoat, likely his comrade, piped up. "But sir, they're peaceful, like you said. They won't attack us. I say, we get in there and take their Abbey for our own."

"No, no. It would be a foolish move. Haven't heard of Cluny, or Slagar? Plus, I do not want to kill anybeast that I don't have to. It just causes unwanted trouble."

"You're soft, and always will be unless you decide to take action mate. The problem those two had were the fact that they didn't gain the Redwaller's trust."

"Slagar did that, and regretted it later. We're just here to _deliver, _then leave."

As the voices grew nearer, Icarus grew tighter to the tree, hiding himself while listening intently to their conversation.

Suddenly, the limb started to make a cracking noise, which caused Icarus to turn. It was then he saw that the limb was beginning to lean down at an angle. His eyes widened in horror as the limb made a more prominent cracking sound. He was practically glued to the tree now, eyes closed, bushy tail flat across his back, and ears cocked back, trying his hardest not to disturb it any longer.

A sound from below echoed. "Stop!" Icarus began to sweat, they had heard the tree limb breaking. Suddenly, everything went quiet.

Everybeast seemed to pause until one brutish and dull sounding stoat spoke up. "Why we stoppin' boss?

Another moment's hesitation played out before the answer came. "Didn't you hear that sound? It was like the snapping of wood; cracking."

"Oi, but I didn't hear a thing!"

"And that's why you're called Deafear, now shut your trap will yer? Let Orion think."

Yet another hesitation.

A friendly voice emanated from below. "If you're out there, come forward and let us speak. We're just a group of peaceful beasts making their way to the southern lands."

Despite the fact that Icarus hadn't messed with stoats before, he wasn't about to be taken a fool. He knew the true nature of the group. A few beads of sweat escaped the compounds of his fur and ran down the limb, then fell, descending to the ground. Icarus gulped.

"Aye, sit rainin' boss?"

Many voices suddenly piped up in argument.

"No, you idiot, there's but two clouds in the sky."

"But sir, I felt a drop hit me head!"

"You're just imagining things, there's a tree above you, blocking any rain that would come down."

"Hold on boss, that tree looks queer. Look at it, the branch is broken, it's leaning at an angle!"

"Aye, that must 'ave been the crackin' sound!"

"But how? There's nothin' to make it crack."

"Could be the wind."

"Tis but a breeze, that doesn't make a limb break!"

The lead stoat, Orion, interrupted the debate with his booming voice. "Shut up! Arguing about it will get us nowhere. Now look closer at that tree, what do you see?"

"Nothin' sir."

Orion laughed. "Look even closer then, there's the tail of a squirrel!"

Icarus grimaced, they had seen him. He poked his head from the limb, and for the first time, saw them up close. "Hi." He stated with fake enthusiasm, gesturing a weak wave of the paw.

Orion slapped a friendly grin on his face. "Well hey! It's so good to see another beast 'sides these impudent ones!" He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Why don't you come down, we won't hurt you."

"Oh, you won't? Well I would, if I wasn't patrolling up here for... birds."

Orion gave Icarus a quizzical face. "Why kind of silly job is that?"

"Well, sir, it's to make sure these trees remain safe by telling the birds to leave if they start building nests. It's an all-day job some days, and this day would be one of those days. This area of the forest is protected... so yeah."

"Strange, I've been looking for birds myself all day and I've yet to come by one. If you come down, we'll treat you to some nice tea, freshly brewed."

"I'm afraid I can't sir, I need... to... go." Icarus began to back up, trying his hardest not to disturb the branch. His efforts ended were vain however, because the moment he set paw back, the branch broke fully and he came tumbling to the ground, still holding onto the branch.

When the branch collided with the ground, Icarus deftly jumped off and began to run. He didn't get far before a blockade of stoats iterated in his path. He stopped, scanning over the stoat's faces, all of who sported malicious countenances. He fell to his knees, admitting silent defeat.

Orion approached him, still sporting his grin. "Tie him up and throw him next to the prisoner. I'll have a talk with him later tonight. So for now, begin setting camp. We head for Redwall in the morning."

_Review. Button is VER' VER' CLOS'. _


	3. The Yin Yang Shepard

**The Yin-Yang Shepard**

_Scyphi: Thanks, it warms me heart to know that I'm creating a fan-fic someone doesn't come by all too often. Personally, I feel like I'm doing sub-par, but hey, a person is their worst critique._

_Jarrtail: Patience young padawan, nothing that exists can be hidden forever. ;)_

_Let's get on with the story:_

* * *

_**Why won't the mouse do anything!**_

Both Icarus and the mouse had been tied to two poles in an indescribablely dark tent, so they wouldn't attract attention to any passerbys. They were tied in such a way, that they faced each other from adjacent sides of the tent. Since they were tied up, the mouse had been quiet, and only moved his legs sporadically to shift positions. It was as if he were completely calm, both his sight and freedom dulled. When Icarus called out to him, the mouse didn't acknowledge him.

"You're one stubborn mouse you know. It's not like your massive ears are gagged as well. I know you're awake, you're breathing.

Nothing emanated from the mouse. Icarus sighed, trying to think what would cause him to remain so quiet. Was he asleep? Icarus began to kick the mouse's legs in an effort to wake him up. "Hey, wake up!"

After his call, the mouse answered with an even harder kick that caused Icarus to grimace.

_So he wasn't asleep, he was just being stubborn._

"Fine I give up."

"Give up what?" Icarus was startled and looked up to see that Orion had entered the room. He sat down in front of Icarus.

Icarus began to dwindle his thumbs, despite the fact that his paws were tied up. "Well, er, I give up trying to... escape." Hesitancy shown in his voice.

The stoat chuckled. "Good! At least I know you won't fight back eh? Now, where are you from?"

Icarus was about to tell him the truth, but thought twice. "I live in the woodlands with my family. They're very big."

Orion raised his brow. "Can you explain the habit then. Thought that was only exclusive to Redwall."

"Well sir, it was a gift from Redwall. Many woodlanders attend the season festivities. I think it's nice. I mean, it was woven by the most talented weaver there, a nice old and gray squirrelmaiden.

Orion sat straight, studying Icarus. "Well, this is way too easy. Didn't have to hurt a fly!"

"What was too easy?"

"Well, when I left home I didn't expect to capture a beast of such value."

Icarus rapped quickly back at Orion. "But I'm a simple country squirrel!"

"Wasn't talkin' 'bout you. I was talking about that beast over there." Orion pointed to the mouse. "Ah yes, most feared beast on this continent. And I captured him with hardly a sweat! Just a toss of a smoking ball," He gestured the tossing movement. " Courtesy of the bird of course, and he was in the bag, or tied up, either way."

"Who is he?"

Orion's chuckle slid between his teeth malevolently as he shook his head slowly. "Do you really want to know? You should already know enough when I told you that the very beast that's tied next to you is the most feared beast on this continent. Let me just say, he'd kill us in a heartbeat now that we know who he is. When I met him, he pretended to be kind, but I knew that he was just avoiding attention. After I had singled him out, I threw a knife between him and a squirrel, and he caught it. I was dumbfounded of course, since I had never seen a beast so something so... amazing. Though now I don't doubt who he is at all. So, do you still want to know who he is?"

Icarus geared his head backward as Orion's leaned inward. He shook his head curtly. "No sir."

"Damn polite too. You know, I like you. If you were a stoat I'd offer you to join me, but I tend to my own kind. Well kid, I'm afraid you're about to find out who this fellow is." Orion ambled over to the mouse and ungagged him with the quick sweep of his paw. "Now tell me, Martin the Incubus, are you mortal? I'm dying to know."

Icarus began to tremble. _Martin the Incubus. The one who took forty lives at Redwall, including my mother's._

A solitary tear slid from his eye. "He's Martin?"

"Aye, do you know him?"

The pole began to shake with adherence to Icarus's trembling. "He killed my mother!" Head bobbling fervently, Icarus struggled against his binds, trying to break free. "I'll wring your neck! I'll make you wish you were never born!"

Orion picked up a scythe that laid on the side of the tent, and lightly pressed the tip of it's sharpened blade to Martin's neck, causing a small trickle of blood to seep out. "Tell 'im you're sorry."

Martin didn't answer.

Orion's eyes widened madly. "Tell him you're sorry you bastard, or I'll slice that pretty neck of yours!"

For the first time, Martin spoke. "Undo my blindfold please, and I will."

Orion tugged the blindfold off revealing Martin's blue eyes, who looked at the infuriated sobbing figure in front of him, then began to gaze directly into his bloodshot eyes. Icarus attempted to divert them from Martin's gaze, but something inside of him refused to let him do so, it was as if he was compelled to stare back. Slowly, second by finite second, Icarus felt a warm calming sensation slowly taking over his body. When at last Icarus stopped struggling, Martin's head bowed limply. He muttered, "I'm sorry, it must have been so... hard." A moment passed and a lonely tear dropped from his nose.

Orion lowered the scythe. "There, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Martin shook his head slowly.

Orion laid the scythe back on the ground, and turned to leave. Before he reached the tent flap, Martin asked, "Where are you going?"

The stoat sighed and looked back at the mouse, who still had his head arched. "Gonna get ready to travel to Redwall tomorrow."

"Do you think that you'll be... able to control them?" Martin's voice nearly failed him in the middle of the sentence.

Orion grunted. "I have them on a leash, for your information."

"You're wrong."

Orion tightened his fists and crouched over Martin's pitiful form. "What makes you think that?"

Martin looked up into the stoat's eyes as he had done Icarus, revealing his newly bloodshot pair. "You have a good heart."

Orion nearly feel back laughing at the retort. "Oh, haha! I've gone and knocked you out, tied you up, threatened to kill you, and here you are, stating that I have a heart of gold! Woo, I guess the smoke hasn't worn off just yet, eh mate?"

"Your heart is good. It just merely casts a dark shadow." Martin's gaze lingered on Orion for another fleeting moment before retreating back to the space directly between his legs.

Orion backed away from Martin, bemused, then snorted contemptuously. He mumbled, "Bastard's delusional," before leaving the tent.

Night's benevolent silence loitered about the room. Icarus found himself confused at his sudden calmness, after all shouldn't he hate Martin? He tried to become angry again and kept telling himself that the beast sitting directly across from him was his mother's murderer, but it just didn't stick. It wasn't at all natural. At last, he called out to him, "Martin."

Martin lifted his heavy head. "Hmm?"

"What did you do to me?"

Martin didn't say anything, but then clearly, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "I plan to face all of Redwall. Escape is something I don't have in mind."

Icarus's voice ushered even further. "But what did you do to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I should hate you right now, and I know I do, but I can't feel it."

Martin sighed. "Look, I need my sleep, and so do you. Orion doesn't plan to kill you, he plans to release you back to the Redwallers tomorrow, but I'm not sure just how. I suggest you play along when it happens.

Icarus shook his head in confusion. "And how would you know this?"

"Because Orion isn't like the other stoats here. He's both intelligent and good. Bloodlust doesn't even move through his conscience when an innocent traveler like you crosses his path."

"What about the war that happened at Redwall with Cluny? There wasn't a single race besides rats, stoats, ferrets, weasels, and foxes.

"Yes, most are, but it's not always that way. For example, don't you think that I'm a murderer? I'm a mouse."

"Then did you do it?"

The question caught Martin like a duststorm. He hesitated before answering. "That's for you to decide."

"Grandpa Matthias doesn't think you did it."

"Grandpa Matthias?"

Icarus bobbled his head in rhythm with his answer. "Yeah, father... eh Mattimeo took me in when I was young, and the whole family has sort of adopted me since then... least they treat me as their kin."

Martin looked to the side. "Ah, yes I see. Well, we had better get some shut eye while we can,"

"Yeah," Agreed the oblivious Icarus, whom had just heard the first part.

Then Martin quietly muttered to himself, "Because you'll probably hate me again." Icarus hadn't heard and remained oblivious.

With that, both slouched on their poles as comfortably as possible and drifted off into a difficult slumber.

* * *

"There it is, the place where they took Icarus." Skipper pointed at a far off camp that gave off a slight flicker of light from it's campfire. They could see a couple of stoats huddled around it, along with a few asleep in the fading dark nearby. Mattimeo stood nearest Cheek and nodded in confirmation.

Night had converted the windy warmth of the day to a chilly stillness. The only sound in the forest seemed to be the occasional rustle of autumn leaves the group swept over, but that was all. Only the moon seemed aware as it peeped toward the silhouetted duo between massive trees. They signaled their companions in the upper limbs of the trees; a group of five archer squirrels.

Mattimeo got Cheek's attention by shaking his shoulder. "So, let's go over the plan."

Cheek sighed. "Well, old sport, four groups approach upon the camp," Skipper held up four claws for emphasis. "Five in the trees, fifteen from the ground, all evenly divided into groups of four... er five. Never was good with arithmetic. The ground groups all come from different sides, flanking them from three separate directions. Our group will be the first to transcend upon them, followed by the squirrel's arrows. When the other two hidden groups see a volley of arrows flying at the vermin, they'll flank. The whole idea is to scare them into surrendering, with no lives taken on either side, but that might backfire if we're not careful enough."

"Well, do you have an idea of the number of stoats there?"

"A score, maybe a little more."

Now they were upon the camp, choosing their steps furtively, making sure not to disturb the hidden leafage twixt their feet. Only the campfire's pallid rays of light saw them now as they took stealthy glances through the shrub. After they assured everything was set, they signaled the group of squirrels a second time.

Not a moment later, the whistling sound of a streaking arrow filled the air as it flew high into the sky, was taken hold of by the moon for a fleeting moment, then arced beautifully back down to land right in the middle of the glowing campfire. Ashes scattered along with the stoats as they all immediately jumped up and began alerting the camp.

Beasts were scrambling left and right. Some were trying to find their weapons, some were trying to find their leader, and some were even trying to find their clothes, but despite their occupation they all stopped and shuddered in fear when the legendary war cry rang valiantly throughout the air: "REDWALL!"

Suddenly, the fire was doused and the screaming of the unarmed stoats rent the night air. Only a few saw the dark blotches approach them before they were grabbed, knocked about, and a moistly cloth was shoved beneath their short snouts. A funny sensation overtook them before they fell asleep into a heap on the ground. Even Orion didn't have time to react as a sharp instrument was thrust dangerously at his side and a gruff voice sounded in his ear laden a tint of anger: "Where is Icarus; Where is my son!"

* * *

"Wake up, Martin."

Martin opened his eyes, blinking twice, letting a surreal scene around him flood in.

_I'm certainly not in a tent. _

Instead, he found himself sitting near an oak that overlooked a pond. Though, the morass that climbed from the pond only went so far until it faded into an infinite whiteness. The sound of a bird tweet idled in the distance, but with no bird.

"You're right, do you recognize this place?"

It was then he saw the shady figure dozing under the oak, hidden just so far as to be noticed, but not identified. Martin attempted to stand, but when he shifted his weight to his legs, they refused to move, and he fell right back into his sitting position.

"Do you?" The voiced echoed throughout his head.

"No," responded Martin.

The unfamiliar voice prodded on. "You should, you grew up here."

"I grew up at Redwall, not at a pond."

"Have you forgotten the Abbey Pond, son?" The voice had changed to that of his father's.

Martin shook his head irritably. "This is a dream."

The voice had changed again, this time to his mother's. "No it's not son. In a dream, you're not aware of everything, as you are now. Here, you have complete control over all of your senses. Except your legs of course."

"Stop that and show me your true voice."

The original alien voice reemerged. "Forever your stoic self, hiding your emotions from the world as I had done during my life. It got me nowhere. While many beasts looked up to me, none got close. Only one mouse knew of my origins, and that same mouse was the only beast I had ever been secretly jealous of. He had a kind wife and wonderful children, whereas I buried my love and had no chubby mousebabes of my own. Despite that though, we were still close friends."

Martin smiled calmly. "I know you then, you're Martin, the mouse I'm named after." He hesitated, closing his eyes, but when he opened them again, the scene had changed. A mouse had appeared adjacent to him, lounging in the grass and giving off a fond smile that seemed to radiate the rest of the scene. The pond disappeared and a small creek had materialized below them with a willow acting as their shade instead of the oak. They laid on a steep incline of land that ended where the bottomland met the river.

Martin studied the strange mouse. _This can't be Martin, he's too small. Surely he'd be bigger._

The voice piped up again. "Right again, he's you, ten seasons ago, down by the Stiller's farm in the woodlands, lounging by their stream."

His younger iteration spoke. "Wonder what father's thinking right now, I bet he's so sad, mum too. I guess I can take some food here and start on an adventure and fight off vermin like grandpa did!" The young mouse's face seemed to glisten with happiness from his virtual freedom.

A smile slid up on the side of Martin's mouth. "Oh yes, father had grounded me for being impudent to the friar when he had asked me to help in the kitchens, so I decided to run away since I thought my life was unfair. When mom found me, dad grounded me from going to the seasonal festivities – not that I really cared about the food, but it still made me upset that I wouldn't be able to do it for another season. That caused grandfather got into a big fight with Mattimeo, I remember that really well too. I suppose that's one reason I've garnered so much respect for him, since it was like he was the only one who cared for me back then. Of course I was just kidding myself when I thought that," Martin chuckled and began to mock his younger self. "Hey, mum will find you and dad will ground you even longer, then you'll run away for a second time in a few seasons. You'll never come back because everybeast in Redwall want to kill you. It's then you'll realize that reality's so grim, and you'll forget this ever happened as quick as a windstorm eh?"

"Then, you hate your parents?"

Martin hesitated for a moment when he realized that his younger ego was speaking to him. Quickly regathering himself, he retorted, "No, I resent myself, which causes me to resent the world."

Young Martin propped himself up with one arm. "But you subconsciously hang on to hopes that it can be better, that there is an ideal state to be achieved. If there ever were words to describe the type of warrior I was, then I was a freedom fighter, and so are you. You're willing to make yourself miserable in order to help others achieve happiness. You saw through to Orion's true personality. You took Icarus's pain from him," The young Martin grabbed the older Martin's paw. "And you have much more potential. Part of what I locked away at Redwall lives in you now." The younger Martin was glaring intently at the older, with a face almost alien to his own countenance.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, that you should return to Redwall. Only there you'll find the first step into unlocking your true potential."

Martin jerked his paw free. "I know, I plan to tomorrow. But is there an easier way to unlock it?"

"Nope, not of what I'm asking of you, and quite frankly you don't have a choice in the matter."

"I don't have a choice? I'm huddled in a tent sleeping right now, I would have escaped easily if it were not for Orion."

It was the younger iteration's turn to chuckle. "Not any more."

Suddenly, a voice began to yell into his ear. "Wake up!" A blunt object buffeted his side, causing him to lose breath and gain full conscience back. The blindfold that had tortured him yesterday was back on again, and he found himself rolling over a cold stone floor in agony. He didn't roll far though, since his paws were manacled, though it was no longer to a pole. He managed to sputter out a difficult, "Where am I?"

The voice that answered him was cold. "You're in the Redwall cellar, and now that I've got you alone, it's about time I teach you a long awaited lesson.

Martin cleared his voice as best he could. "I'd recognize your voice anywhere Cheek."

"Don't call me that murdering coward! I am the Skipper of Otters!" Several more blows landed on and between his ribs. " I suggest you beg for mercy, though it probably won't last since relatives to the other forty beasts you killed are going to have a good go at you before it's over."

The otter began to shove blow after blow at him, Martin squirmed and struggled against his manacles. Abruptly, the beatings stopped and a short pause took play in the cellar, then a stern voice echoed in Martin's ears. "Skipper, stop this at once!"

Skipper dropped the pole and let it clang to the floor. "I'm.. I'm sorry Abbot. But you understand why I hate him. He killed Basil." The subtle sound of weeping rung softly throughout the cellar.

A kindness came from the Abbot's voice, though he must have been a new abbot, since Martin didn't recognize it as Abbot Mordalfus's."But you know our Abbey's rules. We are creatures of peace. His punishment will be decided in front of a council."

Hatred consumed Skipper's quailing voice when he spoke. "Then let the council be the relatives of the beast's he murdered. We'll deal with him proper."

"No, no, no. The council must be unbiased in order to give proper punishment."

"You'll be hard pressed to find the beast who hasn't been affected by... him." Martin could feel Skipper's accusing paw pointing at him fervently.

"We'll resort to outlanders if we have to. Now you need some rest. You can stay in the dormitories tonight if you don't feel like walking home, but I want you gone in the morning, for I fear for this mouse's safety before he is properly punished."

"Yes sir, Abbot." Skipper left the room.

When the reverberating steps receded into the distance, the Abbot walked over to Martin and untied his blindfold, tossing it neatly aside. Martin's cheek frayed the floor as he looked up to see the Abbot. Felicitous features slowly began to emanate from his countenance. He muttered a single word just as his eyes began to well with tears and a smile spread wide across his face, "Grandpa."

_Hey, remember, review. I can't stress that enough :P_

_I need re-assurance. What do you think of the dialogue and description as compared to the two previous chapters. Has your interest in the story diminished at all? If it has, tell me what's throwing you off. This whole story is both an experiment for me and for Redwall, as you'll see later on._

_Also, I've been forced to throw this chapter up earlier than expected. I've lost Internet access at my house and have to resort to going over friends houses to post these up. Don't get me wrong though, I can still continue writing with the help of my flash drive :)_


	4. Martin's only friend

_Scyphi: Heh, thanks. And yes, Martin's past is longer and more complicated than the average Redwall Hero_. _That, I assure you of ;)_

_anonymus:I predict one of your questions will be answered during this chapter, but which one!?_

_Jarrtail:_ _Orion is more elaborate than 'good or bad', so is Martin. I don't/can't write the same was as Brian does. Every character is going to have some shade of grey, whether it be good or bad._

_Enough stalling! Let's continue:_

* * *

"Grandpa."

Something clicked in Martin then; it was as though ancient cobwebbed gears of emotion had begun to turn again. It was the first time he had felt so happy since he had left Redwall seven seasons ago. And to come back to see perhaps his only friend, alive and well, made him shiver with joviality. Here was the mouse who had truly raised him, his grandfather. Through his teary eyes, he couldn't see him too well, but he decided to say something anyway, no matter how irrelevant to the situation it sounded. "I see you've yet to come on in the seasons."

Matthias chuckled heartily and undid Martin's binds. "And I see you've yet to mature. You don't have to cry every time you see me." He helped Martin stand, then they embraced in a hug. "If it helps, I know you didn't hurt a single beast."

"Thank you grandfather, for your reassurance." Martin's grip tightened on Matthias's habit.

When their hug relaxed, and they backed off from one another, Matthias looked his grandson up and down. "Dry your tears, you're not little anymore."

"Yes sir," Martin wiped his matted face with the back of his paw.

"You might have grown taller than me, but your personality has hardly changed since you left Redwall. So, I guess your travels haven't roughened you up much?"

"I have sir, but it's just good to see a friendly face after all this time."

"I see."

Martin scratched the back of his head while clearing his throat. "Well, when did you become Abbot?"

"I became Abbot after Abbot Mordalfus... passed away a season ago," A slight tremble erupted in Matthias's voice. " We had a meeting a few days after his passing, and everybeast in the meeting agreed that I should be the next Abbot, despite what I thought. Cornflower told me that I should become the Abbot, just to not let any beast down. She said that the position reflects more than a simple leader; it reflects a moral guider, someone who steers beasts toward the right path in life, in this case the whole abbey, and she thought that I was the right beast to do that."

Martin lightly squeezed Matthias's shoulder. "Is grandma okay?"

A hint of graveness passed over Matthias's face but it quickly reverted back to his stern expression. Though it seemed that for the briefest moment, alacrity had suddenly found itself absent in the old mouse's countenance. "Oh yes, she's fine. Though, she's not exactly what she used to be. Last season she developed an illness. I don't know what it is, but it's gotten worse. Tess has been taking care of her."

"What are the symptoms? I've learned of many different..."

"Enough," interrupted Matthias laconically. "You're the one who's in trouble Martin, not Cornflower."

Martin nodded with deep reverence toward his elder. "Yes sir, I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry for acting the way I am right now, but as you know, time is of the essence. Tonight we'll be having the meeting to decide your fate, a meeting which I cannot be apart of."

"I understand."

"If all goes wrong, and it's likely to do so. Then we'll have to come up with some escape plan, for I fear for the worst, even from the Redwallers," A rueful demeanor reflected Matthias's expression. "Things have changed ever since you left. It's as if we're losing touch with what made us Redwallers in the first place. Fights between us are occurring more often. Everybeast has seemed to garner some sort of despicable dark side laden with hatred. In all, morale has slipped. We're not the same Abbey as we were during the war against Cluny, and if it were to happen again..."

An eerie silence passed over the room, only interrupted by the periodic dripping of a leaked vintage barrel somewhere in the cellar. Both mice didn't stir until a faint light began to radiate from the direction of the stairs. Conversing voices quickly followed suit, though the echoing distorted what was being said.

"Give me your weapons Martin," said Matthias calmly.

Martin frowned ruefully. "Orion took it from me when he tied me up, I'm unarmed."

Matthias sighed, mimicking Martin's frown while shaking his head. "And I thought I had taught you better."

Martin scowled and grumbled a resolute, "Fine, you saw right through me." Then handed Matthias a small dagger he had tucked away in a hidden pouch beneath his grimy black vesture.

Matthias took the dagger and twirled it deftly between his fingers. "I wouldn't try anything like that again grandson. They're likely to search you head to toe, and if they had found that, it would be another point against you."

At last the light of a torch scared away the darkness of the dim cellar, and shone softly upon the two mice who instinctively covered their eyes. Martin could only make out the dark silhouettes of the torch bearers as their voices boomed throughout the room. "Why is he untied, Abbot?"

"Don't worry, I have the situation under full control. I just was having a heart to heart talk with my grandson." Martin felt the tip of his dagger pressed lightly against his fur, though not menacingly. Apparently, it was enough to convince the two shadows.

"Oh I see sir, but he's needed in the cavern hole."

"I forbid it."

"I'm sincerely sorry sir, but the majority overrules you Abbot Matthias. We won't let him get hurt. Everybeast simply wants to see him, and when they're done, we'll retire him to the bell tower. That way, escape will be more difficult. Now if you'll excuse me..." The silhouettes grabbed Martin and began to lead him up the stairs.

* * *

The Cavern Hole was packed with practically every Redwall occupant in attendance. News of Martin's return from Cheek had run rampant throughout the abbey. Everybeast was garbed in their nightgowns, except the group who had returned earlier from the rescue.

Mattimeo sat at the head of his table, chin in paws, brooding mutely. To his left sat Tess, and his right, Cheek. Mattimeo had been quiet ever since the discovery of his son. Martin had been hardly recognizable, his fur matted down with congealed mud commingled with a little blood, especially around his neck; His clothing was torn, and his eyes bloodshot. At first Mattimeo had thought he was dead, sitting in an unresponsive slumped position on the pole. Though, when he untied him and laid him upon the hard grime of the tent, he could hear his labored breathing. He tried to hide him from the others, hoping to wake him and give him a route of escape, but they had quickly caught on.

Cheek had been the first to notice. Tempestuously, he had begunthrowing things about the tent, cursing. He had never acted like that before, but when he saw Basil's murderer, an unnatural plague of rage spread over him like a wildfire. He had even lunged forward to kill Martin with a sweeping blow from his spear, but Mattimeo had grabbed the spear, and forcefully flung Cheek to the side, shouting, "There are to be no lives taken, remember!"

That moment had passed though, and now they all sat, dwelling on memories of that night nearly ten seasons ago.

Then suddenly, the room grew silent. Everybeast's attention was diverted to only one place in the room. At the top of the steps now stood a conscious Martin. The mouse who, in every Redwaller's eyes, had condemned their loved ones to death.

* * *

Outside the Abbey, the stoats who had been overtaken in the previous night's raid were bound and huddled into two circles. A few of the Woodlanders who had participated in the rescuing of Icarus had been left to guard them since the rest had left to see Martin in the Cavern Hole.

Orion was shifting his head from left to right calmly, contemplating. He knew no other stoat in his group was going to act, and realized that he would have to be the one.

_If we are to escape, then the time should be now. _

He examined the woodlanders minutely. There were only four: one squirrel, and three otters. The squirrelmaid had a simple oak bow that was sheathed over her chest. All three had scimitars, and the tattooed one, presumably the leader of the group, sported hidden daggers all throughout his tattered green vest. So he would be the most difficult to deal with, so he had to be the first.

He barely stifled a potentially devious smile. _It's too easy._

Orion hailed the lead otter. "Hey, you there, rainbow otter."

The otter retorted with a snarl and stomped feverishly over to Orion. He glared malevolently down at him. "What did ye' call me... matey?"

Orion mocked the otter's accent. "Ah called ye' rainbow colored, matey!"

The otter raised his paw to strike the stoat, but right as he was about to do it, another otter seized it with both paws. "Don't bring yourself down to 'is level. All he is, is vermin. Plus, Hittin' him will make Skipper angry."

The tattooed otter sighed, and a calm expression passed smoothly over his face. "You're right. My dad would probably hit me twice as hard if he found out that I had struck a defenseless beast like that. It's against the rules of a river otter."

Orion spat at the otter. "So that Cheek fellow's your dad, eh matey? Well after I get out of this rope, I'll kill 'im. I'd swear to me mother's grave that I'd do it, if'n she wasn't already in it!"

The otter sneered. "I'd watch what you say, vermin." He turned to walk away, but then Orion shot another retort at the otter.

"After I'm done with your dad, I'll take a lil' visit to your mum's place. Don't worry, I wouldn't kill her, I 'ave other things in mind." The otter tightened his paw. Orion smirked as he practically felt anger suddenly instilled in the otter.

Without warning, the massive otter backhanded the impudent stoat. After the blow was delivered, Orion deftly tripped the brute with his legs. The otter came crashing down, and Orion quickly squirmed on top of him. He seized the otter's ear with his teeth, but only bit down so far as to pain him. From of the side of his mouth, he addressed the other guards earnestly. "Dow your weapons 'way and releash my comrades, or I wum bite 'is ear off!"

The otter sat still as a statue, gulping. In a distressed voice he stated, "Don't do it!" Orion bit down harder, causing the otter to squeal in pain. "Okay, do it, do it; release them all!"

The guards untied the stoats manacles, then untied Orion's last. He stood up, arms akimbo, and hovered over the otter victoriously. He began to chide him. "Much too easy... you're wet behind the ears otter, I should know, I made it that way!" He laughed uproariously. "A brave beast would have taken the ear for his pride," He turned to his comrades. "Take their weapons, we're going to go to the abbey and retrieve our reward, whether we're invited or not," He nodded toward the woodlanders. "You're the hostages. If you don't do as we say then so help me, I'll kill you. Don't think I won't either, that reward money is worth _everything _to me, even more than your lives."

_**Orion the Deathclever was headed for Redwall Abbey.**_

_Yeah, this chapter is probably as short as they're going to come, but I'm making the next chapter quite a bit longer than this one. As a matter of fact, I'm already about 2000 words through.. heh. It's just that I don't have internet connection where I live, so I'm stealing my friends right now!_

_Be sure to review!_


	5. Tilling the Dormant Soil: Part One

_Hey, I've decided to go ahead and post this section into two parts, due to the fact that I have over one thousand words to write, and I don't think I'll be able to post it until either next weekend, or the one after that. And to not make interest wane in this story (it's already been a month... a fast one at that), I've stopped in the 'best' place possible for a chapter leading up into another... although in actuality this chapter and the next would be one in the same if this was read in a book. For this reason, it's named part one._

* * *

Martin stood atop the belltower, watching the guards below through a square hole in the floor. There were two of them huddled at the bottom of the tower, sporting some weapon or other. Though it wasn't visible, he knew that the trap door leading down probably revealed one or two more as well. He bit his lip as he glanced precariously over the ledge of the belltower.

_I'm afraid of heights.._

He recalled Skipper's parting words after he was escorted from the Cavern Hole. "Jump off of the tower if you want, we won't mind. Actually, It'd do us a big favor!"

_I'm really that dangerous, huh? Cheek, how you've changed._

The morning had brought an envelope of white misty fog that obscured everything past the monolithic red walls, which were barely visible themselves even from atop the tower. His fur bristled with the generated dew. Though he was used to it, after all, traveling can harden the softest beast.

Martin let himself fall in a heap on the oaken floor. They had rid of his manacles, so he let himself relax his head on his paws. Looking for something to do, he inspected the two bells in front of him: Matthias and Methuselah. He smiled softly, reminiscing. He was the bell ringer right alongside his brother when he was younger. They had followed in their mother's pawsteps, so to speak.

Martin heaved a big sigh.

_Brother..._

Recovering faint wisps of vitality, he forced his attention back to the bells. They glistened in their own glamor, even in the absence of the sun. The blank whiteness couldn't faze them. They were something beautiful to marvel at, with their unadulterated golden bodies and beautifully embellished trimmings that ran in a circular pattern along the bottom. And when they rang, they stretched their benevolent paws all throughout Mossflower, reminding everybeast that we were still here; that we were still alive, and still the symbol of peace in Mossflower.

Though, they will not ring this morning. He was up there, preventing them solely with his presence. He would have rung them himself if they hadn't untied the ropes from their bearings in the bells. Though even if they had left them up there, he wouldn't be able to pull that much weight lying down.

Martin sighed again, there was nothing to do. He was so used the dangers of travel that when danger was no longer apart of the equation, he grew impatient.

_I'll get used to it. Now what was it that Grandpa always said? Patients is a virtue, or something. I suppose I should stay up here, since I can't go anywhere else..._

Martin grimaced and peeked over the ledge again. Frowning, he looked to the sky. "So, what would you do, Martin the Warrior? Would you like to help an old chum?

No answer came of course, but Martin decided on something anyway. "I see how it is, Warrior. So I guess I'll catch a few winks." He chuckled cordially. "What's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

Orion glared toward the ramparts of the Abbey, concocting a plan in his musing mind. It formed slowly, but when he thought he had a good idea, he stuck a claw up at one of his beasts, a brute stoat with a big upper torso. "Jumble, you will be in the lead with the tattooed otter tight against your blade. Your appearance is enough to fool anybeast into thinking that you're the leader. They look at brawn when it comes to these situations."

"Uh, okay." The stoat nodded dumbly, fetching the otter.

Orion tapped all five claws adherently on the crag he was sitting on. "I'll be second, naturally. And take the squirrel," He pointed to two more stoats. "You and you will take the other two otters. The rest of you will go first. You will advance upon these ramparts, stifling their guard, but not killing them. I'm sure they've posted few since they might be suspicious of any more outlandish activity besides us. After that, you will let us in through the main gate. No beast will think of it, since there's no sound to be made. Also, you are under strict orders not to hurt a single beast. These Abbey folk are peaceful, though belligerence is still buried deep inside them from their past wars. You saw how they handled us after we captured their little Icarus. Not a beast was hurt of course, but that's only because we haven't hurt a single beast of theirs, and I intend to keep it that way."

A stoat piped up. "But sir, how will we get in?"

"Simple. Thanks to the mist giving me cover, I had a very close look around the abbey, and I've found a side door. It's disguised as part of the red sandstone brick, but I saw an otter open it and look out. I'm pretty sure the door leads either inside the ramparts or simply through them. Now, enough talk, the little light and this heavy mist should give us adequate cover. Follow me to the door."

* * *

Martin couldn't sleep. His mind, however exhausted it was, just didn't want to turn off. His thoughts kept churning through the events of the past few days, and the occasional feeling that he was being watched kept reiterating in his conscience. Eventually, he sat back up.

He looked out into the fog, an arm resting on a knee. Then he stated absently, "Guess I'm not allowed to sleep."

It was then he saw them. His eyes had been scanning the depths of the fog when he had spotted three stoats maundering across the top of the ramparts. They had quickly darted in and out of view, using the stone as cover. Martin thought about shouting for help, but realized how foolish that would be. The Redwallers wouldn't trust him, and it could startle the stoats into a more aggressive state, and they'd attack instead of simply sneaking around.

_Time to leave._

He quickly set to work, checking the trapdoor first; it was bolted, naturally. The floor was made of wood, and have obviously been built recently, probably to keep the rain out of the belltower, as it flooded frequently. He looked up at the twin bells.

_Do I dare?_

Martin smirked and pulled out a small sharp knife with a halo shaped handle; the one Orion had threw at him in the inn a few nights ago. Luckily for Martin, the Redwallers had missed it on their search. He looked at the substantial rope that held the Matthias bell in it's place. He nodded in agreement with himself, then glanced through the crevices of the trapdoor to see if any beasts were below. There were none.

Martin sighed, and stated, "Sorry Grandpa." And with a couple of slashes he cut the rope that bound the bell Matthias. He hopped nimbly back and held onto one of the belltower's supports as the bell went crashing through the woodwork, sending splinters flying in all directions. A few more crashing sounds echoed below, ceasing with one final _Bong _which caused Martin to wince feverishly.

He poked his head over the edge and surveyed the destruction. The spiraling steps were unharmed, but wood lay strewn about the bottom. Upon further inspection, Martin noticed that a few large boards that supported the tower were severed as well, though their remains which jutted from the side of the tower would suffice as means of getting down.

_Martin, see me through this!_

With one final prayer to Martin, he leaped. His paws caught the square wood, which protested with a few crackling sounds, but still held. He pulled himself up onto the wood, still holding on tight. Now on all fours, he shimmied the length of the wood until he reached the spiraling stairs. He grasped the edge of the wooden stairs, threw a leg over them, then rolled over to his back. He breathed deeply, facing the wooden ceiling.

Allowing only a moments rest, he jumped up onto his footpaws and descended the stairs. He studied the arched windows at the bottom of the tower, then glanced carefully out. He heard footpaws approach, and ducked his head while voices emitted from outside.

A slightly agitated, yet high pitched voice vocalized. To Martin, it sounded like a squirrel. "Noise happening everywhere! First they send up to investigate the ramparts after a few clattering sounds were heard, and now this? It sounded like someone just shot a cannon! But where did it come from? Nothing looks out of place."

A gruffer, brutish voice piped up. "How would you know? The fog's getting denser by the second! Just look at it!"

"I agree, but we still need to check the Belltower."

"Why should we? What would make such a loud noise in there? I believe we're being attacked!"

"Nonsense! If we were being attacked, we'd hear war cries!"

"Such things only happen in books. It would be foolish of any enemy to attack us like that when we're not expecting it. My best bet is that they're sneaking up on us. I think we should go consult with the others."

"Fine then, let's go, but we should get back ."

The two voices receded into the distance, and Martin finally realized that he had been holding in his breath. He exhaled uneasily.

Just as he was approaching the door, it creaked open by itself. Martin instinctively crouched in a fighters stance, but when he saw the figure at the door, he relaxed. "Grandpa."

Matthias winked through his spectacles. "He he, thought you'd find a use for that knife." He walked over to the damaged bell, though since his habit obscured his legs, it appeared as thought he had glided casually over the ground. He rubbed the bell reverently. "It's a shame, it really is... But!" He held up a claw. "No object is worth a beast's life," He paused and looked over to his grandson. "Martin, leave this Abbey. I've never wanted my children, or my children's children to grow up with the burden of being a warrior. With Mattimeo, it was his aspiration, but you're different. You don't have that same glint in your eye as I or your father had. While your skill with the sword surpasses both your father and mine, it's not what you wanted when you were young, was it?"

Martin bit his lip. "I didn't know what I wanted then, and I still don't know what I want now. To tell you the truth, I've never really contemplated what I wanted very much. It was always in the interest of others as they saw fit, be it you, father... or brother." His voice trailed off.

"Then I'll decide for you. Leave this Abbey son, under a different banner. You're no longer the son of a warrior, but instead the son of a humble farmer. Find out what you want in life, and follow through with it. After all, it's common sense that you only live once. So you'd waste it doing something you abhorred."

Matthias nodded. "I understand, and I'll consider it after I attend to my suspicions."

Matthias gave Martin an quizzical look. "What suspicions?"

"There were some shady beasts on the Abbey walls. Their movement was suggestive, although I couldn't recognize them through the thickness of the fog. Don't alert any beast unless they're provoked with noise or the like. I figure I'll do Redwall one last favor."

The two looked at each other for a short time, as if it was the last time they would ever meet. They nodded to each other simultaneously in an understanding built up over the course of their lives and silently departed in search.

* * *

Orion's plan was going wonderfully well. He had managed to get into the abbey without a hitch. The dead silence of the Abbey was his greatest companion at the moment. The Abbey beasts were too used to peaceful tranquility, and when the main gate opened without so much as a cry out loud, there was no reason to panic. If he had been some sort of warlord, they would have been defeated long before now, but he knew of the curse. He knew that he would never be able to overcome the good here, even if he had a massive army. The will of the Abbey beasts was too strong...

Orion spat at the ground; he was digressing in thought. Now, what he could do was take all of the wealth here. To them it was nothing, but to the scraggly outlanders it was the key to contentment. They'd give it up without a fight – at least he hoped they would.

"Ash." Orion gestured the attention of a rough looking brown furred stout who was littered with black tattoos that weaved together in the iteration of a spider's web and motioned toward a vaguely visible tower in the distance. He laconically stated, "Go there, look around, return and report findings. We'll be here in this copse, waiting. If you're not back soon, we'll move on without you."

The stoat bowed. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Martin was mousing around the Abbey grounds, studying and listening, as he had been taught, surprisingly, at an early age by Mattimeo. The creaking of the main gate opening in the near-distance had been audible just a few moments ago, but he figured that the intruders, who ever they may be, wouldn't be able to just waltz in through the main gate.

_Or could they?_

They were on the ramparts, surely that could have been a reason for their being there. Or perhaps they weren't just furtive figures in the fog – perhaps he was just being too cynical of the Abbey. His instinct just wasn't compatible with this type of environment anymore.

As he hid pondering these thoughts, a living shadow seemed to materialize from the fog. Martin quickly jumped into some low-lying bramble, wincing at the pain from the thorns etching through his fur and into his skin. Warding away both pain and thoughts, he watched the figure.

The shape was hazy at first, but it was clear it had movement from the way it seemed to move, without being detected by other beasts, through the grounds. It was even stealthier than Martin, who had had much experience sneaking around the past few seasons of his life. Then, a shivering sensation crawled up his spine... it was an ermine!

_Your friendly fan-fiction reminder: _

_Remember to review, I mean, even a sentence saying you read it and you thought it was good/bad can go a long way for a writer's morale. Though, if you think it was bad and you don't like it, please don't say this **unless **you tell me something I can improve on. Be a critique, that's all I'm asking for, and if you don't have the time, leave a sentence. :_)

_And if you didn't know, you don't have to have a username to leave reviews to the site. So if you would, review... Review. Review. Review. Review. The button isn't even a single scroll away._

_P.S. The team MUST add a comments section to the profiles._


	6. Tilling the Dormant Soil: Part Two

_Redwaller: Thank you for the compliment on the characters! After all, the whole of the story is going to be more character driven than plot driven, so it's great that you're liking them so far. By the by, no I have not forgotten my old buddy Silent Sam, and I made plans to include him, among others, sooner than you think, but not too soon unfortunately._

_Virginia Davis: Despite having to take 20 days to update, I have no intentions to discontinue this. So, I'll continue!_

_Azure: Thanks for your review. It's always nice to have a fascinating storyline I suppose. And don't worry, I'll hopefully get around to revealing it... someday._

_Jade: Could you specify what kind of re-cap? Do you just want a summarization of events or else? I can send it to you via PM. If it's more, I can include a much more detailed one in.. two chapters seeing as the next one will be uploaded tomorrow. Though you'll have to be patient if you wait until this coming monday, my access to the internet is very limited at the moment._

_Jarrtail: Yes, I hope you'll think this chapter exciting! However, I'm sorry for not having updated soon. So yeah. Read the end of the chapter for details._

_Scyphi: Yeah, poor bell. I'll have to do something with it, seeing as I now have to power to do it._

_Enough! On with the story!_

* * *

Ash was scanning the Abbey Courtyard, sniffing, surveying. He interwove his way around the brush, taking cautious glances around him so he knew when to run to the next hiding spot.

And as he was doing this, the feeling he was being watched kept popping up in his mind, tempting him to become nervous than he usually was, but he tried his best to shake it off. It was probably nothing, after all, he was the watcher, not any other beast. "Why, I'm the one sneakin' round 'ere" he assured himself. "Not anyone else. 'Sides, if'n they would've sees me, they'd raise the alarm. An' let me say, any other beast would've been caught, I'll tell you right now. Oh, but not ol' Ashfur, no surrie. Why, when I report back to Orion about this he'll re.."

His speech was cut short, as a fist had suddenly materialized in midair and collided with his snout. He fell to the ground, grunting in pain. He felt a furry paw thrust over his mouth. He opened his eyes to find a most unwelcoming sight – the prisoner he had tied, gagged, and whipped during the trip to the abbey. And now, the mouse was glaring at him with a malevolent look laced through his countenance, and a deviant smile plastered to his face.

"Listen to me, you brute," Martin began. "I'm not like these Redwallers. I'd soon run a dagger through your heart than hesitate... but," Martin broke off, his expression turning increasingly softer, though clearly fake. "I'm feeling a little pity for you at your current position, so what do you say you tell me Orion's plan quietly, or I'll follow through with that promise I just made, hmm? Yes, or no?"

Ash nodded vehemently, both his eyes and mouth becoming more dilated. Martin lifted his paw from the ermine's mouth. "Orion wants the money, nothin' else. We've already taken out most of the guards, and he wanted me to find a clear path into the Abbey, so he could take negotiations with your lord."

Martin grimaced. He gazed at the sky and slowly closed his eyes while shaking his head dejectedly. "What? He didn't learn his lesson and leave? Well, he seemed like a semi-intelligent beast. I just don't understand your incentive to have that gold so bad."

"We want it for our families, to buy food for them from others. We're living... no... dying in a swamp. The group here today stole out at night one day, and we're plannin' to take the money

Martin looked back down, surprised at the ermine's answer. All he could manage after was a half-hearted, "What?"

"'Sides that, we're killin' ourselves in our own civil war. Though Orion; he stepped up and gathered our best. In less than half a season he convinced the tribe to make peace with each other. While he may appear a vermin to you, he's the only reason I'm alive right now. And all he wants is the treasure here, so our tribe doesn't have to do no more sufferin'. Please mate, le'me go."

For a while, Martin wasn't sure of what to do. His experience told him that the beast he had suppressed to the ground was a vermin, bred only to kill. Though, this resolutive experience sparked a revolution in him. Perhaps... he didn't want to kill. Maybe he just wanted to survive? Maybe. This advocation raced through his mind, and for the slightest moment, his grip on the ermine's neck weakened...and it was all Ash needed.

He quickly clubbed Martin in the neck, causing him to fall to the side while coughing and sputtering. Martin, as agile as he was, jumped up on his feet just as Ash managed to stand. Martin passively massaged his neck, finding he was lucky. The blow had buffeted the side of his neck, and his breathing was only inhibited slightly through a small lump in his throat.

Ash glared at him, a rancor glint in his eye. He pulled a worn looking iron dagger with various scratches loitered about it from a pouch hidden beneath his black vesture; His cruel smile displaying his stained teeth. "Everythin' I told ye was true, but ya see, I'm also willing to kill ye to save me kin."

Martin chuckled, wiping a small splatter of blood that had surfaced on the edge of his bottom lip. "You're right, if you don't kill me now, they'll be in much more danger!"

In the twinkling of an eye, Martin was under the ermine. Ash instinctively stabbed at Martin, who thrust his paws to combat the dagger which had made for his heart, and was successful, knocking the dagger away, then spun back, grabbing Ash's paws with a tight hold. He twisted them until he heard a loud pop, causing Ash to sink to the ground, screaming in pain. Martin picked the dagger up of the ground and pressed it against Ash's neck while cuffing his paws over the ermine's mouth once again; however much his intuition told him that they'd already been spotted. Martin grappled the ermine's shoulders tightly and began to pull him closer to his face. Ash's pain subsided when he saw Martin's deadly red eyes edge closer to his. The feeling of eternal terror coursed his way through his body. Martin's naturally long nails, coupled with his deathly grip on Ash's clothing, ripped through the fabric as he was pulled even closer to the mesmerizing eyes.

Ash recalled later in life that it was like glaring into the eyes of a demon straight from hellsgates. Though at that moment, he couldn't procure any word for this sensation of pure terror. "You're... n-not...mortal."

"You're going to tell me..." began Martin as both of their heads collided, though neither felt the pain;. "You're going to tell me where Orion is!"

* * *

Orion's ears flickered to and fro when he heard his name called out from afar. The other beasts in his group quickly began to panic. Orion silenced them with the flash of his paw. "There's nothing to be worried about. No, not until you see it." However, this was a lie. Orion felt the same sensation of panic his comrades felt, but as a natural leader, he knew that in order to calm the group he was going to have to appear unconcerned.

He peered through the dense foliage, for the first time cursing the fog. In seconds, it had gone from their greatest advantage, to their worst enemy. He held up his paw to garnered the attention of the others. "We'll all go. And the first prisoner we find, we take. There isn't any other option." He stood up and was about to leave, but then realized that the others weren't following. He turned back to them, questioning the sudden disobedience. "What's wrong; why are you hesitating?"

"We don't like your decision makin' no more." A stoat of medium build stood up to address Orion. He wore a simple blue shirt and had a black tattoo of his tribal sign plastered to his face."

Another stoat stood up, this time of smaller build, but of a larger profundity. "You're getting us killed, just to protect these abbey beasts who don't know the first thing about fightin'. We want to take this whole abbey for ourselves. Don't you see Orion? We could gather the rest of our tribe, and bring them here and kill them!"

Orion's eye twitched when he realized that Greengrove, the stout that latter stood, must be the ring leader of the quirky rebellion. He realized that he had to reason with them; to make sense of the groups actions. "That's where you're wrong," He quickly cornered. "They've taken on hoards much bigger than them, and came out with just a few casualties. I don't know how they do it. From what I've heard, they're helped by... others... higher beings who instill the fighting prowess in them. Now don't tell me that a small village like ours will be able to take control of such a large abbey."

Greengrove stepped toward Orion confidently, chest puffed out and arms akimbo. The rest of the group took an inward step in his wake, as if to clarify their positions as well. "No I'm telling you Orion, as the spokesbeast for the rest of the group, we're tired of your peaceful ways. I know of this Abbey, and how the beasts here obtained it – by force! They killed a benign old wildcat. I know, that's rare, but she was the first ruler of Mossflower. And originally, Mossflower was filled with many different types of beasts: Stoats, rats, mice, owls. All working in peaceful harmony. But then a group of mice came from the north, their name lost in legend. They gathered the species they deemed worthy: Mice of course, squirrels, moles, voles, badgers... and they conquered the Abbey. After the war, they drove the other types out of this fertile land, and into the swamps of the north, where we live. What do you think of that Orion? Peace doesn't work. Never had never will."

A silence pervaded the scene as Orion's eyes narrowed on Greengrove. Why did they act like this? How come they all had suddenly decided that he wasn't worthy to be their leader? After all, he had helped them survive countless confrontations with enemies. Then again - was Greengrove telling the truth? Orion hadn't studied too far into the history of the Abbey, and instead had delved into it's contemporary placement in Mossflower. In his personal opinion, the stories of the past were over exaggerated; impeccably fantasy. Truthfully, he had no clue how the Abbey beasts had truly come to obtain the Abbey. He had heard many iterations through his lifetime around the campfire; that being one of them.

"Well?" The stoat interrupted his thoughts, bringing him straight back to reality.

Still bedazzled at Greengrove's onslaught, he spat out the only thing that he could conjure, and with the whirl of his tongue, stated. "You lie."

Greengrove shook his head slowly, and looked up toward Orion gravely. "No, you're the one who's been filling every beast with lies. Fighting is the only option, not taking prisoners. That's just plain weak."

Orion's temper rose. He felt the temple on his forehead begin to throb. "I got you inside here without fighting, didn't I?"

Greengrove gestured to the larger stoat, who furtively procured a large branch that had been hidden in the brush, and while keeping it hidden in his cloth, approached Orion from the side. Greengrove couldn't suppress a malicious smile that crept upon his features. "Allow me to correct you, you got us trapped in here without fighting, and the only way out _is_ fighting."

Orion stepped back, unsure. But he knew that if he left this copse, the Redwallers would be all over him. He closed his eyes defeated and dejected; his temper quelling. He unloosed a small dagger from his belt. "So you're just going to kill me, and get rid of me."

Greengrove shook his head. "No, that was the original plan though. But our newfound distaste for you has caused me to reconsider. So I think we'll just leave that decision for the Redwallers to make hmm?"

A sudden whirl of air penetrated Orion's acute hearing, but before he could physically react, a massive blunt object was swung vertically from an unknown source. The only thing he could do was glance upward, eyes aglitter as the object rushed toward him. It seemed to further obscure the natural veil of the upper foliage, light radiating from behind the increasingly massive club like object as it approached him. The action that had taken no longer than half a second seemed to Orion like a whole minute. He felt nothing when the object had captured all of the light, and he floated seamlessly into a world of darkness.

* * *

Greengrove chuckled maliciously as he watched Orion fall in a clump to the ground. The stoat that had clubbed him backed up as Greengrove inspected the unconscious body. Blood was pouring profusely from his nose, which had become angled unnaturally too far to the left. Greengrove spat at him, dropping some dead moss on him. "Goodbye Orion. May hellsgates have mercy on your soul. After all, you are just like me: vermin. Nothing else."

He gestured to the rest of the group for attention, much like Orion had done earlier. "We're going to attack this abbey right now while they are oblivious. We've already taken their warriors out on the ramparts. " He unbuckled a mace from his belt and held it up, beckoning for the others to unloose their weapons. They did, more confidently than when they were sneaking around. Fighting came as first nature to all of them, as they had been conditioned from the beginning to strike first, and ask later.

They ran out the copse, heading straight for the heart of the Abbey – the dormitories. As they neared, the doors to the dormitories swung open. A single mouse, clad in magnificent steel armor, and with an equally extravagant shield marked with a capital 'M', stepped out, glaring at the group unafraid. He pointed a gleaming sword toward them. "I am Mattimeo, son of Matthias the Warrior," He began. "And do not think that my age has effected my fighting spirit, for it has not. And do not once believe that your tainted selves will ever have control of this Abbey, for you will not. I'll ask once: lay down your weapons and leave this abbey immediately, never with the intention to return."

Greengrove sneered. "You and what army, mouse?"

As if on command, a dozen squirrels reared their heads from the roof of the dormitory, and a dozen otters approached from the sides: some wielding a loaded sling, and some wielding sharpened spears. Though, they all sported confident countenances.

Greengrove's sneer instantly disappeared, replaced by a vicious snarl. "Never."

* * *

_Read my profile for my excuse that makes up for not having updated. A hurricane and no computer can do wonders to affect that._

_Also, I'll be uploading the next chapter tomorrow which will be part three– if everything goes well e.g. no one in my family dies, someone in my family has a birthday I never knew about, ect. Yeah, I know I said there was only going to be two parts, and if this was a novel, this all would have only been a single part, but it's not so.. meh, however, three parts will be the limit here. In short, this battle ends tommorrow._

_So yeah, if you will, review, and if I've already uploaded the next chapter before you read this one, please do review this chapter for things specifically mentioned in this chapter. You know, to avoid confusion._


	7. Tilling the Dormant Soil: Part Three

_Jade: Um, thanks! I hope you're satisfied with this chapter_

_Jarrtail: I updated sooner than usual! Heh._

_Brawl: Thanks for the compliment on my description, and I hope to get better!_

* * *

Martin realized at a commendably early age that every beast, particularly the adults, weren't perfect nor could obtain perfection; That they were too often impulsive, doing things that the other dibbuns thought of as 'wrong' quite often while knowing it was wrong, and then ironically telling them that it was wrong! As Matthias had put it when Martin was younger, he saw past that black and white curtain that is set in front of the young of the abbey and slowly raised throughout their life, giving rise to another more colorful curtain, which adhered to their own unique pattern of personality.

When he first saw Orion's body lying in the copse, Martin felt devastated. His mood had gone from ravenously warring to utterly depressed that instant. Here lie a beast with so much more potential than him. Someone who had the colored curtain set in front of him since childbirth, and not the black one that seemed to inherently dangle in front of vermin. He had been able to analyze it with intelligence and benevolence, unlike his comrades. Overall he was someone who could influence others, and in his case, vermin.

He shook his head, muttering as he looked over the body, "But what was his mistake?" He noted the congealed blood that matted the area around his nose. It looked like clay with a dark red hue, spreading in two directions, one of which trailed down the side of his cheek into a fresher, brighter pool of blood on the ground, and the other, much smaller trail, that had found it's way around his mouth and to his neck until it dissipated as it neared the ground.

Martin checked Orion's wrist for any sign of a pulse, nearly jumping with delight when he felt the faintest throb. The pulse was so faint however, that it felt like trying to detect the rapping of a dibbum upon a great maple door from the other side. Forcing himself to calm, he searched the body for any more signs of vitality, finding that here and there, Orion took a slight raspy wisp of breath.

Suddenly, war cries rang in the distance in the direction of the dormitories, followed suit by loud clashes of metal, and then screams; some of which he recognized as mice. Feeling the urgency of the situation, he no longer cared if he was seen. He jumped on impulse, ready to take off, but before left, Orion moved. Martin looked down at the body to see Orion gazing up at him with one half open eye; the other swollen shut. He had made to grab Martin's leg, but seemed to have stopped halfway probably out of pain. Though, his hard natured visage that was adorned with a delicate scowl definitely didn't show it.

Martin spoke first. "What happened to you? The Redwallers did this?"

Orion cleared his throat, replying, "No, t'was my own group. They betrayed me. I had been their lead for two seasons, and they stabbed me in the back. Now they want the Abbey... you need to," Orion coughed. "You need to save your Abbey, but please, spare them."

Martin thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't see how you're still alive acting like that. You know that if they make to kill me, then I can't promise that they'll survive."

Orion's hard visage softened a little bit, as he looked away from Martin. "Oh," He replied gravely. "Go."

Martin nodded and took off, calling back. "Don't worry, we won't forget you!"

* * *

When he reached the fighting, he hid behind a great big elm, surveying the scene. A scurry of otters were fighting the escaping stoats, along with a little help from squirrels from the roof tops of the dormitories . At a cursory glance, he could tell through their informal attire that most were of the woodlands, as they generally sported worn clothing with a dull red and green tint in emulation of the past fall; unlike the more fancy habits of the Redwallers.

He stepped out to lend a paw to the Redwallers, even though he knew that both sides wanted him dead. With benign thoughts flying out to his former friends, he quickly tied together a request to Martin: _Martin, I need your help now more than ever. If they still decide tie me up and beat me after I help them, spare them with whatever coercive ability you have. You know that their reasoning is good enough._

Mercy thrust aside, he charged the scene. As he approached, he noticed that the battle seemed to slow down, allowing him to choose his first target: A colossal stoat who wielded a solitary club – just the kind of weapon that could have hurt Orion.

Martin growled, letting his emotions run freely as he did so often during battle. They had always served him well the past five seasons. He believed that when it came down to survival, objectivity had no room for consideration.

He could feel his eyes beginning to glow with the crimson fury they usually garnered as he struck the stoat in the back. After he heard the satisfying guttural sound elicit from his prey, he moved on, not bothering to look at the countenance of the surprised otter he had assisted.

So he leaped into the fray, his sharp teeth clenched as he quickly ducked and parried a procession of sword swipes from two brown furred stoats who had first noticed him. Martin made quick work of them, cutting at their legs. He struck one of them in the calves, forcing out a small gurgle from the stoat before he fell face first into the jellied mud. The other, somewhat larger stoat, flung his sword at Martin, who caught it agilely, and used it to parry a single uppercut that was thrown at him. The stoat squealed as Martin's new sword cut his flesh.

Bloodlust now lining his eyes, Martin grinned as he slid the sword out of the stoat's arm as one would saw a tree. He reveled in the painful expression on the stoat's face as he collapsed to the floor.

Martin had known bloodlust from childhood. It had before been both his greatest friend and enemy, aiding him to win fights even in the worst conditions. This said, he could fight quite well without it's aid, but when the odds were struck against him, he helplessly fell into the lustful position. During one point of his life, it reiterated so often, his elders had to constrain him. Matthias had taught him how to control it – to a good extent. Another reason they had grown so close.

Martin's eyes quickly scanned the parameter for another opponent, promptly falling upon a stoat who was attacking an armor clad mouse. Just before the stoat made a deadly blow to the mouse's neck, Martin had run up and pushed the mouse to the ground using his body weight, regained composure, and engaged in battle with the bewildered stoat. Martin delivered a such fury of blows to the stoat with the dagger; that to an on looker it appeared as though Martin wielded a short pole of glistening light. The stoat's combat stance began to slacken, as his wild arms began to become more akimbo and closer to his body as he slowly sunk into pure defense. When at last Martin had created a hole big enough to penetrate, he went for it, swinging the dagger at the stoat's bare chest with such a blind ferocity, that the stoat tripped and fell to the ground, blood streaking the grass five yards away.

His opponent was panting heavily as Martin pressed the sword tip to his throat, loving every moment of the mental torture he was asserting.

Unexpectedly, the stoat hid his eyes, crying, "Don't! Don't kill me, I'll call them off!"

Martin's malevolent grin quickly subsided into a scowl when he realized that his bloodlust was over and that the beast he had just defeated must be the leader of the stoats. He breathed deeply, as he could gage his temper that way, just as his grandfather had shown him. With every breath, the bloodlust subsided.

"Then... then do it dammit!" He shouted, as he slowly made his way back to reality; some bloodlust still lingering.

The stoat did as he was bid, signaling to his comrades to cease combat. They obeyed, thrusting their weapons aside and falling to their knees without another word said.

"You there!" Martin pointed to an otter who had been in the fray. From his befuddled expression, Martin realized that he didn't recognize him... not that that was bad. The timid otter acknowledged him with the shake of his head. ''Tie all of these up." He gestured in a circular pattern, obviously meaning the knee laden stoats.

Martin felt the slight scrape of metal on metal behind him, and he turned to look. The armor clad mouse was looking at him through the visor, of which Martin only saw the eyes. A little blood seeped out of a vent in the mouse's armor, but besides that, he seemed fine.

By now, Martin's bloodlust was gone, but he still addressed the armor clad mouse impudently. "What are you staring at, mouse?"

The mouse's echoing voice resonated throughout his helmet, causing an indecipherable echo to permeate through the small visor. " I'm staring at someone that that I never expected to see again."

"Well that's wonderful, then you must know who I am. Want to kill me? Try. You know the legends that surround me; you know that I can strike down even the most formidable foe. Though, that's no way to pay anyone back for saving your hide."

"No, that's not my wish at all." Mattimeo lifted his great helmet from his head, eliciting a slightly astonished response from Martin, who gulped through his passive visage. He had not expected to see his father. Despite what he had expected however, Mattimeo offered a friendly smile to the cynical Martin. "My wish, is that you will join us for dinner in the Abbey tonight."

Martin was taken aback, his face the picture of utter surprise. His mouth contorted into various shapes as he attempted to reply, and after a few tries, managed to spurt out. "That... that's...nice. I'd like that."

Mattimeo walked over to his son, and patted his shoulder. "If it helps, I know you didn't hurt a single beast that day."

Martin returned a pat to Mattimeo's hot armor; heated from the warm sun. He cast a matching smile on his countenance. "Thank you father, for your reassurance."

_And thus, for once in a very long time, Martin was sated._

_And so, this concludes... the very first part of the story. More of a prologue than anything really. I suppose you can say that the following phrase presents some allegory: "And now begins the rest of your lives." So I suppose you could say, "And now begins the rest of the story!" Yeah, short chapter, but the next is the one I've been waiting... writing for! _

_The next chapter will present a couple new characters, most old and faithful to the canonical series, and one... or two (if I'm feeling to it) new characters. Though two absolutely new characters will probably make the next two chapters._

_Oh yes, remember to review. Reviewing helps an author tie together his writing experience with support from his or her readers. It will especially help me, so I know I'm not making shots at progress in the dark – you know... trailing down the wrong road an all... '_looks at his cricket emulating audience'.

_Just review._


	8. Smiles, a New Ally, and Revelation

_Scyphi: Thanks for the review, and well its not really a prologue. It's just that the whole point of the story shifts so early, that the beginning only scratches the surface of something I'm planning to be so much bigger. So it's something halfway between a prologue and the actual story, but don't expect anything as long as Orphen!_

_Foeseeker: Ah yes, I've always considered Martin the Second's past and wondered at such possibilities if the character was corrected. Could he be as great as his forefathers?_

_Mossmoon: Yes, Martin has that problem, much like Martin the first had... but probably to a much greater extent. And I don't care if you use those sentences._

_Jade Leaf of Tea: Thanks for the review and the compliment, and I wouldn't go so far as to assume anything of Orion just yet. :)_

* * *

Martin awoke, pulling the sheets over and sitting upright on his old bed in his former home, the gatehouse. He yawned and stretched, looking around, his gaze found more objects than it had the previous night under the candle light. His pair of half opened blue eyes glazed over in reminisce as they skimmed the room head to paws.

Many paintings loitered the walls, most of what he painted, and some of his grandfather's. A small clock, a gift from a traveling magician, embellished the wall above his door with it's wonderfully crafted extravagance. Though it had broken a long time ago, Martin had liked the owl that was embedded onto the clock. When he was younger, he'd often wonder how such an object might work, as every time the owl's eyes glanced to the left or right, the second hand would move. Besides that, a bookshelf was placed neatly in the furthest corner of the room, wielding Martin's favorite books from the library, and a few seashells he had collected as a child from the shores near Salamandastron with his mother.

He couldn't help but smile. This had been the life; Every night having a comfortable bed to sleep on, and every morning having a delectable breakfast to look forward to. He had been a fool when he had first run away because he felt that life owed him more. If he could have redone the last five seasons, no matter how impractical that truly was, he would have stayed and learned some sort of skill. It didn't matter what it was, as long as he could have stayed.

_It's strange how my attitude is so much different than it was..._

Martin's round ears perked up at end as he heard his mother' voice down the hall. Her tone suggested that she was trying to be quiet, and that she was saying something to Icarus in his room next door. He stood up and pressed his right ear lightly against the door.

"Wake up Icarus, breakfast is waiting. Careful not to disturb Martin though, he had a long day yesterday, you know."

Martin nodded in agreement. The previous day had been filled with many revelations. First, Martin had been unveiled as 'good' after being labeled as evil for five seasons. Surely not every beast would swing their beliefs all of the sudden to adhere to that; not after being conditioned for so long to hate him. Then, Matthias had treated him just as it were the old days, making it awkward for the rest of his family to adjust to their regained family member. And sure enough he knew that it would never be the same.

Yesterday, Tess had chosen to be quiet. She had averted her eyes from Martin's wake the whole day, only offering him a single smile when she handed him dinner. It felt as though they were complete strangers, and perhaps that was the way it was going to feel for quite a long time. He was still her child, but now he was an adult. He had left at the ripe young age of twelve seasons, and now returning at nearly seventeen, he likely appeared foreign to her.

Martin yawned again and stood from his bed, stretching his legs. Mattimeo had told him that he was welcome to come down a little late for breakfast that morning, but he had become an early riser during his travels.

_Dawn to dusk, or so it had always seemed._

Martin strode down the hall early that day, glancing into the dining room.

* * *

Mattimeo felt as though he was meeting his son for the first time – again. Martin had popped his head out of the junction between the hall and the dinning room, gandering over it with studious eyes. Probably taking note of all the new things they had, and conjecturing to the whereabouts of the old.

Martin strode out of the hall and took a seat quietly, not once making eye contact with Mattimeo, Tess, or even Icarus when he walked in a moment later. Martin boasted an old blue shirt that hung down past his waist, and some green tattered shorts that were obviously much too small for the tall mouse, relatively speaking. Mattimeo couldn't help but feel a little bit of jealousy when he sized up his son the previous day, noting that he had grown half a head taller than him. Mattimeo chuckled at the fact that every generation in his family brought bigger mice.

"So, father," Mattimeo's attention sprang to Martin as he addressed him. "Have a good night's sleep?" Martin took a bowl of porridge from Tess, who was handing them out. He thanked her. Tess responded with a shy smile; the only thing they've been communicating with the past day, as Mattimeo noticed. He'd have to speak to her about that later.

Mattimeo nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact I did. Best one in seasons. Why, I feel as young as I was when I was your age. Let's see, you're seventeen? Why when I was that old, your mum was heavy with you, if I recall." In the corner of his eyes, he could practically see Tess blush.

Martin sighed, a sadness creeping into his features. "No father, you're thinking about brother." He took a sip of the porridge - the only thing passive about him his consistent movement.

Mattimeo inhaled, looking down to his porridge. How had he forgotten? "Oh yeah, it slipped from my mind."

Whatever friendly atmosphere that had been iterating had dissipated, leaving only the tension of the word 'brother' hanging on everyone's thoughts, save Icarus, who had never met him. No one spoke though, each beast understanding the significance of what Martin had brought up.

A knock soon sounded from the door, gratefully disrupting everyone's thoughts. Tess made to answer it, but Mattimeo held her with the wave of his paw, offering to do it himself. When he answered the door, a smirk jumped to his visage, and his brow created a content arch as he shook the paws of Matthias. "Welcome Abbot, to our humble home!"

The somewhat shorter mouse trod into the house, his full green habit dragging the floor. Matthias had always been one for wearing things too big for him. "Oh nonsense Matty," began Matthias. "You only have to call me Abbot in public. Here, I am your father."

"Tradition says otherwise," retorted Mattimeo. "So, what brings you to the gatehouse on such a fine sunny day?"

Abbot Matthias grumbled, scratching his ear. "Quite the contrary. It's likely going to rain this afternoon, so I came to inform you that you might want to get your duties done early today."

"Well, all I'm really doing today is deciding what to do with those stoats. I could be done early today, but you know how slow our Abbey comes to decision making sometimes."

"Ah yes, that's what I came here for!" stated Matthias as if he had just realized something of great importance. He spun around to Martin, who was just finishing his bowl of porridge. "I believe that you would know what to do with them."

Mattimeo shook his head in disbelief. "Father, you can't possibly leave such a decision to him.

Matthias silenced him with a wave of his paw. "That's where you're wrong. The weight on his shoulders has been much heavier than that these past seasons, so I believe that he'll be able to handle this civilly. Please don't worry your great big head over it." Matthias gave his son a concluding wink.

Mattimeo gritted his teeth. They had been argumentative like this ever since Matthias had become Abbot. "Yes sir."

Matthias patted Martin's shoulder as he passed, and then looked to Icarus. "You too, grandson. I believe you have a say in the decision as well."

Mattimeo bit his lip. He didn't know where Matthias was trying to get with choosing them to decide the stoats fate. They both were quite biased.

"I can, really?" questioned Icarus.

The Abbot nodded fervently, his eyes peering wisely over the top of his spectacles at Icarus as they bobbled up and down. "Indeed, your decision is as cardinal as Martin's!"

Icarus leaped from his seat and ran over to the door, ready to go. Matthias laughed and ruffled Icarus's ears. "After you eat breakfast, of course. I thought I had taught you better!"

Icarus hurriedly finished breakfast, and the trio headed out the door, leaving a less than humble Mattimeo behind. He grumbled to himself at the incompetence of the two youngsters as he grabbed his marvelous sword from it's holder above the mantle. Though not as marvelous as Martin's sword had been in his grasp, it still was very useful, especially yesterday. It was undoubtedly heaver than Martin's sword had been, but he believed that if he handled it right, it would prove just as worthy.

As he played with the sword, testing it's weight between his paws, he glimpsed over to Tess, who sat on the couch, head in paws. A whimpering sound emanated from her. He sighed realizing the flaw in what he had thought earlier. He wouldn't be able to comfort Tess, she'd have to come to terms with Martin on her own. The only thing he could offer her were some kind words, but in actuality, that's all he could offer her.

* * *

Martin had rarely ever judged his grandfather, and when he had so long ago, it was always quite positive, but now he greatly disagreed with Icarus's involvement in such a decision. He couldn't help but form a smirk at his mouth's end as he evaluated Icarus. The adolescent was about as innocent as could be; his eyes bright, and with a big toothy grin plastered to his face. Though, perhaps he felt a little envy as well - Never again would he himself be like that.

Martin's brooding came to an abrupt halt as Matthias tugged on Martin's shirt, saying without once looking at him, " Stop staring at Icarus. You wouldn't like it if someone almost twice as tall as you was staring down at you, hmm?"

Martin glimpsed at the ground in front of him, holding a paw to his mouth to stifle a chuckle. Maybe things weren't to be so serious after all.

After another moment passed, Icarus looked up at Matthias. "You say something?"

This time Matthias laughed. A confused Icarus looked straight ahead. Oh how Martin loved his grandfather's sense of humor!

The trio of Redwallers entered the cellar, descending down it's leering dark steps. Martin had always hated when he had duty in the cellars when he was younger. It was always so uninviting; so unlike the rest of Redwall. When other children his age advocated to venture down in the murky cellar, he'd always decline, saying that he was busy with other things. Though in reality, he abhorred it's ominous presence, every time wondering why cellar hogs prefer an unleveled floor puzzled together with unmatching cold stone to the clean and perfectly situated crimson sandstone of Redwall. It just didn't fit together in Martin's mind.

The usual drip, drip, drip of the cellar could be heard, but this time, gruff voices co-mingled with the cellar's usual feeling. The trio popped their heads out of a corner to find Skipper, with a score of otter, surrounding yesterday's attackers.

Matthias hailed Skipper. "Hoi, Cheek. How are you on this fine cloudy afternoon?"

Despite Skipper's weariness he turned to face his Abbot, reverently stating, "I'm well Abbot. As you ordered, each beast requiring medical assistance has been taken care of, and now they are ready for judgment."

Matthias nodded. "Well, thank you Skipper. But that will be up to Martin here."

Skipper cast Martin a scowl, to which Matthias quickly dismissed with one of his own. "Don't Skipper, he has done nothing." A trace of chiding was imminent in the Abbot's voice as he peered over his spectacles at Skipper, eyebrows arched.

Martin wisely chose to refrain from responding to the Skipper, knowing that it would take much time for him to take to him – if he ever did. Martin noted Matthias's expression as it bore into Cheek's back as he turned tail and left, leaving the trio and dozen otters behind. It seemed a judgmental expression, or perhaps one of immense understanding. Whatever his grandfather had been thinking at the time, he couldn't deduce with the simple reading of his face. He had always seemed to have that effect on him.

"Abbot Matthias," began Martin, who sought to break the rooms sudden quietude. "What exactly are you asking me to do again?"

Matthias turned to him, a trace of that judgmental visage still there, and stated matter-of-fact, "I'm asking you of your opinion of punishment on these stoats." The seriousness of his voice bore into Martin's thoughts. This wasn't the Matthias he knew right now.

"The decision is not up to me, or Icarus." Martin retorted laconically. Icarus didn't say anything, glancing toward the two with bemused eyes.

"Oh? Then who?" questioned Matthias, forehead creased. His voice sounded more agitated.

Martin pointed to a solitary stoat in the crowd nestled on the ground. Upon futher inspection, the Abbot realized he was pointing at Orion, who had been trying to hide himself from the rest with his head hung low. He wore a befuddled expression as he stood. The congealed blood was totally gone, obviously the work of the talented infirmary nurse. Matthias studied the dejected stoat, and then asked for him to stand. Orion did as he was bid, standing fully erect, as if the pain from yesterday didn't exist.

Now his eyes were visible. They were totally downcast, all of the ambition and desire that was once nestled in their confines, gone. Though Martin knew the reason why. He had lost everything. If he returned to his village without the stoats, then he would be considered a failure in his own kin's eyes. If he returned with the stoats, then surely a knife would be directed toward his back – that said if he ever made it back home.

Martin's eyes narrowed._ Dammit, I can't lose him._

"Well, say something." stated Matthias.

Orion's listless voice echoed throughout the grimy cellar. "We... I am yours. I've no will to condemn my own brethren. You decide the punishment, not I. Though I'll ask, let them go. I'll take their punishment if I must." With that said, Orion sat uneasily back down.

Martin sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. The allusive answer defeating him, he turned away from the group, now facing the wall cellar's grime laden walls. He needed more time. He couldn't just let the stoats walk away unhindered. Perhaps exile to the south... or to Salamandastron.

Another minute passed, and Matthias began to tap his footpaw on the group impatiently. "Well?" When Martin didn't answer, Matthias walked over to his grandson, conversing with him in quiet tones. "Do you have an idea of what the right decision is?" he whispered.

Martin nodded. "Orion, the stoat I had chosen to speak for the group. He stays. The rest don't belong here. Personally, I'd prefer them dead," Matthias jumped at the suggestion, but caught himself. "I'm sorry, I know the Redwall ways, but when you're subjected to a rough life as a vagabond, you realize that the evil is better left off killed."

Matthias cleared his throat. "This is what you think? Well, you know we can't go through with that. It's just not our way, not when we've captured them like this.."

Martin nodded again. "Yeah, I know. Exile seems the only way then. We can't let them return to their homeland. I'm sure they're aspiring to take Redwall for their own now that they've seen it."

Matthias closed his eyes and began humming, apparently deep in thought. Martin recognized it as the tune Badgermum Auma used to hum while tucking the dibbuns in bed. Perhaps it was helping him to clear his head. Whatever the reason, when Matthias's eyes snapped open, a look of certainty sprang to his countenance. He spun around back to the group of stoats, showing that time hadn't caught up with his agility just yet.

He stuck a claw in the air. "Exile, to Southsward, in the paws of the squirrel kingdom. Your leader stays here, he will be taking the punishment."

The whole of the group looked relieved, save Orion. His expression never changed.

Matthias crossed his arms, cane still gripped tightly as he held it aloft. Matthias's posture didn't give a single bit. He even seemed that he grew another inch or so taller. Martin was beginning to believe that Matthias's usual frailness as Abbot was just for show. "The squirrel kingdom isn't as forgiving as us. They're much more likely to have off with your heads. A group of otters will be escorting you there, and then you'll be intercepted by a band of squirrels, non Redwall affiliated squirrels," Matthias's eyes rolled over the increasingly frightened crowed. "Don't let their appearance confuse you. Your chance for escape is next to nothing. The woodland otters are excellent warriors and scouts, and the squirrels are double that when scouting. Trust me, if you do manage to run off, they'll nick you from the trees with their arrows." Martin swiped a claw in gesticulation. "Questions?"

The group of stoats remained impeccably silent.

"Good, now tomorrow will mark the day of your departure. And you there," He pointed at Orion. "Come. And hurry. I've never liked being down here in the cellars."

* * *

The otters went to untying Orion's fetters, leaving his manacles intact. He began to follow the trio, an otter from his captors following close behind. As he followed the trio, he wisely kept his head down, despite the tinge of pain that swept through his body with every step.

He was beaten, now a completely lonely beast; useless. That in turn made him expendable. No doubt the beasts he had just saved were relieved that the one who they betrayed was to be punished for their foolishness!

Orion stole a glance behind him, and gritted his teeth. The otter was the one he had harassed at the camp; the one he had threated to bite off the ear, among other things. The squirrel in front, that his former band had captured, was right beside the mouse that he had meant to turn in and claim the reward for. What in hellsgates was going on? Where they planning to show him to whomever the leader of this fortress may be, and kill him? They had sufficient evidence to prove it, despite the fact that he had never any intentions to do anything he had said. He shook his head softly; that's all he was: an incompetent leader who was all bark and no bite.

He thoughtlessly proceeded to follow, having to squint his eyes when he left the cellar. He had been trapped down there for that whole night; a sleepless night to boot.

The band wound their way through a few vaguely lit corridors until ascending a single set of spiraling steps which led into a large banquet room. They strolled over to the largest table in the room at the far end. It was the grandest of the bunch, it's color a tint of deep mahogany brown. The chairs themselves bore similar features, though instead of plain legs, they seemed to be wrapped around by tightly knit imitations of brambles. Emulating the way they hugged the trees of Mossflower wood.

"Sit down, Orion."

Orion gazed at the eldest mouse, the one who had picked him out from his bretheren. He had expected a rough countenance to be sporting the Abbot's face, but instead he wore a kind smile. Confused, he sat down. His head instinctively slunk back down, but jerked up when Martin tapped him on the shoulder. He whispered into Orion's ear without looking at him. "Chin up."

Orion processed this as a command and kept his head level with the rest of the group as they sat down. A beast he hadn't noticed before was present now; a crimson furred male squirrel, his chin inclined above the rest, as if he was asserting himself 'above the rest'.

Orion thought that this new beast could be the leader he had sought for so fervently the day before, but upon further observation, he realized otherwise. The clothing worn by the squirrel was a simple green shirt, one worn by a squirrel who likely lived among the roof of the foliage in Mossflower wood.

The older mouse ambled over to the squirrel, who's eyes shown with reverence as they shook paws. Then the elder sat down in a seat right next to the squirrel, across the table from Orion. Could he be the leader?

_No, he can't be the leader. This mouse is humble, and fragile. That is the definition of a follower!_

Martin sat down beside him, and Icarus chose to sit down on the other side of the table next to the Abbot, who seemed to care less.

After a moment of silence, the elder piped up. "Now, Orion. That is your name, isn't it?"

Orion nodded.

"Nice to meet you! My name is Abbot Mortimer, though you may call me Abbot Matthias, or just Matthias."

Orion nodded again. Still befuddled by the whole situation.

"I must say, you did a grand job of catching my boy," Matthias held a paw out to Martin. "But I must ask, where in the heavens did you get the idea that we were offering a reward for his capture?"

Orion tilted his head a bit. "It's common knowledge in the north."

Matthias raised a brow. "Common knowledge? Why, I've never even heard of a reward for his head!"

"Yes, everyone knows about Martin the Incubus."

"The Incubus? Sounds like the name of a monster a mousewife would use to force their children to go to bed! How did you find out where he was?"

"From Hides-His-Beak. A migratory bird from... Mossflower. At least that's what he told me."

Matthias stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I've never heard of a bird with such a name."

"Well," Orion cocked his head to the right. "I'm sure that isn't his real name. Just an alias."

"And he migrates from Mossflower to the northern lands?"

Orion shrugged. "I'm not sure. All that mattered at the time was saving my people."

"I see." stated Matthias.

Orion's gaze tilted to the right as he dug deeper into his memories. "His accent was so foreign, it sounded like he wasn't even from this continent."

The crimson squirrel held up a claw, and for the first time spoke. "What kind of accent, Orion?" He let his arm fall comfortably onto the table.

Orion cleared his throat. "Et sounds a vittle like dis."

The squirrel nodded fervently, his eyes focused on the Abbot. "I've met beasts like that before during my travels. He's from the Great Continent to the west." With that said, the squirrel shifted back into his previous position.

Martin banged his fists on the table suddenly, an angry glint storming in his eyes as they gazed at the table, as if he was trying to burn a hole through it with just his sight. "He's there, my brother's there, I know it! I've wasted all of this time traveling around in search of him, and the whole time Lance wasn't even here!"

"Your brother?" asked Orion almost absently as he pondered the possibilities. "What do you mean?"

Martin gaped up at the startled group, his head still pointed down. The reddish haze in his eyes becoming more prominent as they narrowed. "It wasn't I who murdered all those beasts. It was Lance. He was the bastard who messed my life up!"

* * *

_And so we have it, my first ever 'chapter' that ranges right over four-thousand words! I just now finished, with six hours of sleep last night. I'm afraid to write much more right now since I'm so tired... _

_Remember, review, or I'll be forced to repost that huge paragraph I wrote about reviewing a while back!_


	9. Motley Rain

"He did what?"

Mattimeo thrust open the door to Abbot Mordalfus's study. He stomped in uneasily, panting with anger, as was evident by the wild look on his face. As he approached the Abbot, he inquired again, "What did Martin do Abbot Mordalfus? Why do you hold him in the infirmary if he's not hurt?"

Abbot Mordalfus glanced up at the angry mouse from over his spectacles. He had been writing down the current days events as they had transpired, and at that moment had been writing about Martin's wrong doing. Low candle light illuminated the Abbot's serious features as he addressed Mattimeo. "You're here about the fight?"

Mattimeo's eyes dilated as even more anger fumed from his visage. The incredulity of the behaviour of Abbot Mordalfus sometimes! "Of course I'm here about the fight!" He shouted. "What could he have done that was so wrong, that his own father whom, may I remind you is the sole protector of this abbey, isn't allowed to see his own son? Was he hurt that bad?"

Abbot Mordalfus cupped his paws together in a calming manner, treating the situation like an everyday thing, despite the fact that both knew it wasn't. "Now, Mattimeo. You know that if this Abbey was attacked by vermin, then every able bodied Redwaller would stand up and fight against it's enemies. No beast would allow such a burden to be placed in your solitary paws alone."

Mattimeo held back a retort, and instead began tapping his footpaw impatiently.

"But if you must know," the Abbot continued with claw raised. "The conflict was between both of your sons."

Mattimeo gave the Abbot a skeptical look, his head cocked. "What? Lance is always in bed this late at night. He has a sword session with me early in the morning, before chores."

"You're too trustful Mattimeo. They had been out. Doing what, I'm not sure. But Mattimeo had come charging in the infirmary, crying. He told an assistant there that he had hurt Lance very bad."

Mattimeo shook his head. "There's no way. They've never been that violent."

"Well now they have. As I told you many times before, you've never viewed the whole scope Mattimeo."

Mattimeo gritted his teeth. "How is Lance's condition? Is it so bad that they will not let either me of Tess see him? Why didn't they even tell me that the mouse Martin had fought was Lance? They're both my children for Martin's sake!"

Mordalfus sighed, stood up, and walked over to Mattimeo, placing a paw on his shoulder. "We didn't want you to be upset," Mordalfus noted the suddenly concerned look on Mattimeo's visage. "It looks like we weren't too successful. Follow me child."

The two mice left the study, heading down a quiet hall, and then down a flight of stairs that led to the infirmary. A few torches loitered the walls, especially this time of night. They cast eerie streaks of light about their confines, the rays dissipating before they reached the floor, causing Mattimeo to nearly trip twice behind the serene Abbot When they finally reached the end of the stairs, the wind outside in the nocturnal darkness seemed to howl through a few opened windows; their curtains shook violently. Thumps could be heard buffeting the Abbey's exterior, insinuating rain and perhaps even hail. It was the same kind of night that had brought the arrival of Slagar the Cruel.

Mattimeo hated rain. Everytime it visited the Abbey, it brought dreadful memories of that atrocious night; The night that vile fox captured the children and dibbuns of the Abbey, forcing them to trudge miles through mud and muck, while beating them for any incompetence. Strangely, ever since then, bad news seemed to always rear its ugly head on these dark nights.

Suddenly, the wind blew the only torch that was outside the Infirmory out. The Abbot grabbed Mattimeo's habit. "Are you still there Mattimeo?"

"Yes, Abbot Mordalfus."

Mordalfus's grip lightened, but still held firm. "I'm quite sorry. Rain comes so swift, oftentimes we are not awake to close the windows."

"I know." _What a humorless night. Abbot Mordalfus usually enjoyed a joke or two, rain or shine._

At last the two reached the infirmary, and knocked on the door. The small pitter patter of feet could be heard from the other side, and then the door opened, the snout of a bankvole sticking out from between the double doors. It instantly spied Mattimeo, who had been closest to the door. "I've already said this Mattimeo, but I'll say it again. We need no worried parents in here at this time. Your son's condition is not yet stable, so if you'll give us some more time..."

The Abbot interrupted from behind Mattimeo. "Thank you for following orders Sister Viola, but I'm allowing Mattimeo to enter. He understands that the situation isn't all that well."

The snout seemed up jump. "Oh, deary me, hello there Abbot Mordalfus! Come in, come in."

Abbot Mordalfus patted Mattimeo on his shoulder. "You'll have to excuse Sister Viola. Even though she's quite young, she's already had two miscarriages, one very recently. So she been very grumpy to others, but it's perfectly understandable why."

Mattimeo nodded, having already excused the Sister's attitude, as it was common knowledge of the sister's problems.

In the infirmary, the light had doubled; Every crack, corner, and crevice was visible. Lance was situated a bed at the end of the room. The shadows that emanated from the curtains surrounding the bed were wild indeed. There were three beasts in that curtain. Two were smaller figures, but the third was a much larger one: Badgermum Auma.

To Mattimeo's complete horror, Lance's legs were flailing. It appeared as though the Badgermum was there to hold him down... but for what? And why was it so quiet? If his pain was so much that he was suppressed, why wasn't he screaming?

Mattimeo felt on the verge of tears, but kept his calm. He addressed the Abbot. "Mordalfus, where's Martin."

Without a word, the old Abbot pointed behind them to a chair nearest the door which they had passed without notice, and there sat a juvenile Martin. His paws were cupped to his face. Subtle weeping could be heard. And as Mattimeo drew closer, he noticed that Martin's arms and his blue shirt were completely soaked, and a little pool of water gathered beeath him, outlined by the light of a nearby torch.

Mattimeo patted Martin on the head, who looked up, his face beaming with the innocence of any adolescent. But his eyes... they were much too red, even for crying. The redness even silhouetted his eyes. Mattimeo didn't know what to say.

The Abbot spoke to Martin. "Tell your father what happened. I promise that no punishment will be dealt, since you and I both know the circumstances."

Martin looked from the Abbot to Martin, bottom lip quailing as he bit down to control it. "I...I thought I had killed him..."

A great flash of lightening caused Mattimeo to awaken. He would have toppled out of bed if he hadn't caught himself in time.

_What a strange dream._

He put a paw to his head – the fur dripped in a cold sweat, and his stomach welt with pain. "Ahh, I can't be sick. Not now."

He looked over to his wife beside him, who was sleeping peacefully. Her breathing was light and controlled. Mattimeo was grateful that the nightmarish scene outside hadn't woken her.

He threw his legs out from the bed and stood up, stretching. Perhaps he was just hungry; a midnight snack would suffice.

He lit a candle from his bedside, and left the room, nearly stumbling a few times, but refrained from cursing. When he made it to the dinning room, he noticed Martin sitting at the table, tapping his claw lightly on the woodwork, which was eminent from the eight pronged candle that was lighted up at the table's centre.

Mattimeo grabbed an apple, and mutely sat down, studying his son who didn't seem the least affected by his appearance. "Why are you up so late?" He inquired.

Martin shook his head dully. "Thinking. I can't think when I'm in bed."

"About what?" He pried further.

"Nothing you have to worry about." Martin replied laconically.

Mattimeo heaved a great breath before he took the first bite of his apple. If it had been six seasons ago, he would have chided Martin for such impudence toward his elder, but now it would seem wrong if he did. What had changed about Martin so much in the past few seasons? He was still an observant mouse, even more than before. His skills with the sword had improved tremendously, as he had borne witness to that two days ago. But indeed, the beast sitting across him wasn't Martin, or at least not the one he had known so well just a few seasons before. Mattimeo felt like he had let a complete stranger into his home – he was meeting him again every time they spoke.

"Oh really, so I can't do a thing to help?" said Mattimeo.

Martin shook his head again. "Nope."

"You've been here but two days and you're already having problems? Why won't you tell me?"

"Because you won't accept it."

"Oh really?" Mattimeo took another bite.

Martin nodded. "I'm trying to remember, back to the night when all of those beasts were murdered."

Mattimeo bit his lip, of course. "Do you remember anything worth remembering?"

Martin finally looked over to his father. "I'll answer you, if you answer me."

"Fine."

"What is Icarus's relationship with Grandpa?"

Mattimeo, who had been oblivious to Martin and Matthias's closeness, simply shrugged. "Same as the one dad had with you. He's next in line for Abbot, just as you were, and I suppose he still is despite your return."

Martin's breathing quickened. "That would explain why he wanted him to come this morning," He went from tapping the table to tapping his sharp teeth. "To answer your question, I still can't recall anything that happened. I was woken up, and they ran me out of the Abbey, simple as that. They called me a traitor to my own kind."

"Bloodlust maybe."

Martin slammed his fists on the table. "It couldn't be, there was nothing to make me angry!"

"Shh!" Mattimeo gestured his paws for Martin to keep his voice low. "You'll wake the whole abbey. Now listen, do you remember the time you and Lance got into a fight?"

Martin sneered then leaned back in his chair. "I'm not sure. I was in bed, like before, and then the next thing I know I'm over him, his neck was cut into, three deep claw marks littered his face. I was scared and woke Sister Viola as quickly as possible. C'mon, we've been through the story one hundred times, and everytime I tell you I don't remember."

Mattimeo closed his eyes. Martin had changed. He was able to speak of it with so much less regret than he had before; stating it so easily.

He remembered the wounds. Martin had cut so far in, Lance's voice had been nonexistant for nearly three weeks, but it had healed, and the claw marks became simple scars concealed behind his fur.

_The scars had healed, but that deep scar gained the night of the murders would not._

"Then did you do it?"

"I'm not sure. Besides those two times, I've remembered every time the bloodwrath came over me. I haven't let it beat me like before."

"Then you're innocent, end of discussion. You're not evil enough to do something like that; there's nothing to think about. Its in the past."

"No!" shouted Martin yet again. "Who did it then? Who murdered forty beasts so well, and then managed to frame me? The only other beast it could be is..." Martin's rancor expression quickly transpired into one filled with regret, as if it pained him to be enraged any longer. His voice quailed as he spoke, "Is...is Lance." He looked away from Mattimeo, his eyes now eliciting only a mutual repent into Mattimeo

"Enough!" Mattimeo glared at his son, challenging him. "Neither you nor Lance could commit to such a thing!"

"It was that band that had come to the Abbey a couple nights before. They convinced him to do it. It only took them a couple nights to."

A light of regret quickly flickered through Mattimeo's eyes. He remembered them; A band of five, all clothed in black. None spoke save their leader, a fox who had kept mostly to herself, but had shown a strange interest in Lance. They had come and gone so quickly in fact, that only a few beasts with good memories could remember them. Yet still he searched Martin's logic for any holes that would state otherwise. His eyes matched Martin's determined pair. "What would drive him to do that then, son?"

Martin retorted quick, already having his answer ready. "There wasn't much to be driven. He was already evil at heart, under the motley layer of morality Redwall had given him." Martin cupped a paw over his mouth, as if he wanted to stop himself from speaking the truth.

Questions buzzed through Mattimeo's head. Lance had shown no true wickedness in his childhood. There were of course, a few instances, but that was to be expected since he was to be the future Abbey Warrior; ever hardened for battle. Too bad that had turned out to be a fluke. "What do you mean?"

Anger wound its way back into Martin's visage. He flailed his arms wildly as he thrust his chair out from under him. "I mean what I said. There's no more to it." He stormed out of the dinning room, and headed for his room, slamming the door shut.

Mattimeo rubbed his temple in agitation. Indeed Martin wasn't the same. No longer was he the calculative and innocent soul he had once been. Now, he was more impulsive, something utterly foreign to him. Was he overshooting his assumptions over the new Martin, or could it be that he was just worried? Worried about what then?

_Whatever it may be, there's no doubt that I'll be meeting the harlequin mask concealed behind this one tomorrow morning. _

_It seems as though that transition I mentioned two chapters back has taken a very slow turn, but it has taken one nonetheless. While I've changed the story quite a lot so far, direction wise, that 'result' I've been wanted to write about so bad hasn't yet arrived, but it will soon, after I staple my characters down a little more, just to add to the feel. _

_After all, are characters not the spine of any story? I can recall only one story that has never used 'live' characters, but instead personified the objects of a house (Coo-coo clock, toaster, ect.). Something of that caliber would require atrocious amounts of description to enjoy, but thing is... I remember enjoying it._

_Anyway, this character development it seems, is required to create that fully functional spinal cord I'll be needing to set the rest of the story, and I'll be strengthening it vertebrae by vertebrae._

_Review._


	10. Godfather: Part 1

_I honestly don't know what's happened to my writing in the past few months. A one week break turned into three months. It happens, I guess. Ninety days surely feels like a long time. I'll post a quick summery of the story at the end of this chapter for those wanting to 'catch up'. Perhaps my returning readers... if I have any... should read that first. Just scroll to the end._

888

Martin left early the next morning, his energy filled to a cauldron's bubbling brim, not having slept a wink after the previous nights quarrel with Mattimeo. He had too much to do, too much to think about before he ever slept, so a morning's walk would suffice.

The rain had begun to wane, causing a black puffy overcast and glossy grass. The storm had been benign, giving the little ones some puddles to play with when they woke shortly.

Martin paced himself on the cool granite cement, collecting his thoughts. By now he had calmed down from the argument earlier.

It was the tension he felt here, confined between the four red sandstone walls. So many memories, so many friends of the past who had been dead to him just a few days before. Choice, fate... whatever had governed him to this point, it didn't matter.

His gaze strayed over to the great abbey entrance. Something pervaded in the back of his mind. There was someone he had to see, some beast he had to visit in Mossflower, so the tension would dissapate. Absently, he wandered over to the gate until it stood over him like a great colossus, and all he had to do was give it little push and he'd be a step closer.

"Leaving so soon?"

Martin jumped, head spinning around to face Matthias, who sported a kind grin. Martin stuttered, searching for some sort of rebuttal. "I-I just wanted to go visit some beast in Mossflower. Uh... um what are you doing up so early?"

"I'm always up this early... to check on Cornflower." The abbot walked up to Martin and procured an emerald habit from behind him. "And I had the feeling you'd be leaving today. Don't want you to catch a cold or anything in this dreadful weather, you know. It might rain later." Matthias pressed the habit into Martin's paws, who in turn gratefully put it on. Though, to his dismay, he found it didn't quite fit all the way, its bottom fringe ending at his calves.

"It doesn't quite fit."

Matthias chuckled. "That's because it's your old one, the one you left in the mud the last time you left. Seems like you've grown a bit too much. I'll ask Cornflower to make a bigger one... for when you return. When you do get back though, Cornflower's been wanting to um... see you." Matthias's jovial attitude suddenly seemed to damped.

Martin nodded. "Well it's good that she's moving around. I'll stop by when I come back."

"Yes..." Matthias's attention seemed to stray and he turned around, waving the back of his paw in a silent farewell.

Martin pushed open the gate, and headed down the south path, and then curtly east, toward the heart of Mossflower.

888

He had walked for an hour until he finally came to the 'landmark' as Lance had put it, a big stalagmite crab, protruding from the earth like a giant claw. All he had to do was go in the direction the claw was pointing, and he'd arrive at his destination. He did this, galloping down a grassy hill, and running against his habit which followed the uphill wind.

The dark clouds had retreated beyond the horizon by now, and the sun had become the sky's overseer, warming Martin's fur. In the distance he saw a group of trees, clustered together curiously. To any vagabond, it would appear, at least on the outside, like an ordinary bunch of trees situated only by chance. But Martin knew what it really was.

He approached the cluster's anterior, a little grove, at first sight impassible due to the thick trunks that stood in his way, unwavering. A strange lifelessness drew about this front row of trees. Their bark appeared darker than normal, and it's leaves still trickles of water from last night's deluge.

He whistled. A long, drawn out whistle.

Then, suddenly, the feeling of being watched by dozens of little crimson eyes came over him life a wave, his spine tingling a bit. He pushed aside his instincts, just in time for the hidden voice from behind the obscure foliage to pipe up. It was a strong voice, but with a rather youthful tint. Martin guessed that it emanated from a squirrel, as it had come from above. "Who goes there, friend or Foe? What is your business?"

"I am Martin of Redwall, a friend. I have come to visit a friend of mine. Her name is Ezmeralda."

For a moment, nothing stirred. The feeling of being watched by many still hung over him. He could feel their presence, each one laden with spear. There were six, each hidden at different lengths at the apex of the dead wood. His instinct held strong as he tried his hardest to thrust it aside, since for any other time than this, such a scenario would spell death for him.

The instinct, usually his friend, screamed at him to run. A shadowy vision of them danced about his mind. Red eyes. Bronze fur. Tattoos of skulls, swords, spears, and conquered foes akin. Iron tipped spears dipped lightly in poison at daybreak, meant to last throughout the day. He bit his lip, staring straight ahead, trying to appear as stolid as ever despite his acute senses.

Then without warning, the tree trunks began to lift into the air vertically and with adherence, as if they were all attached. Martin took a step closer as they continued to climb. Their lifelessness then rang true when he saw the underside of the trunks. Where the synthetic foliage ended, a layer of steel began. His eyes followed the wonder until it reached it's full height above his head, the front being the dead trunks, and all it's interior composed of metal. Thick wires hung from the trees, bathed in dense foliage, and tightened from the immense weight of the gate. The straw like foliage continued down, until it hung in front of him, obscuring his vision of the inside. Martin whistled again, though this time softly. They had gone through many new counter measures since he had last left.

The voice piped up again, this time a bit more sternly. "Approach."

And, a bit wearily, Martin took toward the overhanging vegetation, still aware of the eyes that watched him.

_Well, I'm cutting this chapter short. Why you ask? It's an attempt to get my readers back. This will be my shortest chapter yet, as I've managed to climb to 3-4k words previously a few times in the story. It will be part 1 of 2. It was originally meant to be a whole chapter. (I have a notebook outlining a good portion of the story, possible endings, and like the next seven chapters... something I did over the hurricane I believe... a few months back. )_

_**Anyway, spelling errors thrust aside, here's the very vague story outline:**_

_It is about Martin, an outlaw to Redwall. His nickname is Martin the Incubus, as it was rumored around Mossflower, and surrounding areas that he killed neigh forty or so beasts 'at night', hence Incubus. He is being hunted fervently by 'bounty hunters' something I've sort of capitalized on with Orion, another character of vermin species who wants to see his people prosperous and whatnot._

_Orion captures Martin, and then later Icarus, a flying squirrel from Redwall. Icarus was a charater I had wanted to capitalize on more in the first chapters, but since they (Martin and Icarus) are saved from the grip of Orion, he hasn't really been or done too many things. Hopefully that'll soon changed._

_Anyway, they're saved, but Martin is hated and confined to the Cellars at first, where his grandfather Matthias, now the Abbot of Redwall, comes to 'help him escape'. It is advocated that the 'mood' of the Redwallers had since changed, as Matthias, "fears the worst from them." E.G. they might kill Martin for his deeds (something they would have let Slagar or Sela slide for in Matthias's youth._

_Later Martin is brought up to the Belltower, away from the Abbot's help (showing distrust in their Abbot). Martin advocates sleep, but when he sees an Ermine within Redwall(Orion has sense made plans to go into Redwall, and take by force the reward put on Martin's head), his plans immediately change and he rushes to their aid. He fights the Ermine_

_After the Ermine's scream rents the air, Orion's plans come to an immediate halt. He wishes to proceed further with the plans without hurting anyone. His group suddenly turns on him, and knocks him unconscious leaving his fate up to the Redwallers._

_They try to escape, but are countered by a now aware Redwall resistance, at the contingent's head lies and older Mattimeo, equipped in the armor of Martin the Warrior. They fight, and the new Martin intervenes, saving Mattimeo's life, and fighting back resistance all under the influence of Bloodwrath._

_For this, Martin is 'forgiven' and realization comes to place that Martin's brother might be the killer instead of him. Though these ideas conflict with Martin himself as he claims he had been awake the night of the murders, but cannot remember it well at all. Mattimeo remembers an incident that happened between Lance (Martin's brother) and Martin, where Lance is scarred from the furious claw marks from Martin.... something he doesn't remember(and something I've yet to conclude). Martin fights with himself, knowing that he has the bloodwrath, and that he just might be the killer after all. After Mattimeo and Martin fight (Mattimeo going 'for' Martin, and Martin questioning him), Martin goes out for a stroll.. and this is where the chapter resumes._


	11. Godfather: Part 2

_Jade: Good guess. I did enough foreshadowing for something like that, but you'll see soon that I did it for a totally different purpose. Oh yes, and I thought a few people would ask for a summery, so I just went ahead and did myself the honors.. heh. :)_

_Scyphi: Well, more advanced would be a better thing to describe it. Better yet, I'd just describe them as different, as you'll see in this chapter. The way they live requires different advancements to be made._

_jarrtail:.... *doesn't know how to totally respond except by this:* No, I haven't read 'Digger'(whatever that may be, and yes... to the rest. I am eager... as well! :D_

_Foeseeker: Woah, I can't wait either! Hmm... gray characters... what a foolish concept! Heh._

_Martin the Warrior: Hmm, you still don't have an account? Oh yes, and I'll update sooner next time. It's only been what... eight days since the last? Compared to months? Hmm. Oh, and you don't have to worry about 'grammar' mistakes *explains after chapter... don't go there yet!*_

_Anyway, It's nice to know every consistent reader is already back, save for the oddball who reviews for a single chapter here and there. O.o *Yes those are amazed eyes*_

_Anyway, onward!_

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"Don't be afraid!"

Lance and Martin brandished their swords, letting steel glint steel. When their fight had begun, Martin had had first strike, nearly slapping Lance's sword right from his paw. But it didn't take long for Lance to recover, and even then go further. His onslaught grew faster and faster. He was identifying Martin's attacks and countering them with such a force that nearly every buffet sent Martin stumbling back. Tiny beads of sweat collected on Martin's chin, falling in a near continuous cascade with every jerk he made. The attacks grew stronger, faster, until they seemed to come with such a torrent, that Lance's sword could barely be seen.

With gritted teeth, Martin hopped back, obliviously crashing into a pillar. His back slid down the wall until he found himself sitting on the floor. He let his sword clatter to the ground, looking up at his brother, who's visage displayed a great triumphant smirk as he lightly touched the tip of his saber on Martin's nose.

They stayed quiet for a moment, gazing at one another, the only sound being Martin's labored breathing.

Lance was the first to speak. "I warned you when I saw that look on your face. You were afraid when I began to get the upper paw."

A thin and embarrassed smile shown on Martin, quickly fading away. "That's the first time you ever beat me, and you did it so fast too. That new master of yours must be amazing."

Lance nodded curtly, taking a seat next to his brother on the cold marble floor. "Yes, he pushes me beyond my limits, something father never did."

Martin gave Lance the rise of his brow. "What are you talking about? Father's sessions were very intense, thank you."

Lance shook his head. "Two seasons ago, I would have said the same thing. But you see, he was too damn protective of us, especially after our fight. We just never went far enough brother, and the fight we just had, was just a taste," Lance leaned his head back on the sandstone and rolled it over to meet Martin's eyes. A serious tone lingered in his voice when he began again."Now Master Bartholomeo, that was something else. A trip to Hellsgates... he was Diablo himself."

When Lance looked away, Martin stole a furtive glance at Lance's scar. He bit his lip at the sight: Three gray diagonal scars, one passing over the right eye; which had healed completely. Though, he had always regretted it, and had nearly forgotten about it after the two season absence of his brother, but when he had seen it earlier that day, painful memories caused sorrow to rush over him like a giant tidal wave. He forced himself to look away.

"Now, you know my initiation as Redwall warrior is tomorrow, right?"

Martin nodded while wrinkling his chin. "Aye, you've accomplished something that many a beast here at Redwall want and envy. So do I. You follow in our father's pawsteps while I lay back and stick my nose into books. Even a future as a potential Father Abbot doesn't seem as... satisfying," He sighed. "Though, I suppose with that display of skill you just gave me, you deserve it paws down."

Lance smiled, something he did quite rarely when it meant for comfort, and hung a paw on Martin's shoulder, squeezing his trap. "Ah, don't worry brother. It'll be the life. We'll be two peas in a pod. With you as the Abbot, and I as your protector, we'll be the greatest duo this Abbey's ever seen. And afterwards, when we're both in the Dark Forest, you'll be able to ask Martin himself, and he'd agree."

Lance stood, dusting off his pants. Then Martin stood, for the first time noticing that Lance had grown taller than him, as he was eye level with his chin. "Looks like ya sprouted up during your stay there?"

Lance chuckled. "He he, just now noticing that? Typical of your Martin. You never were observant."

Martin scowled a bit, but then smiled wickedly, sharp white teeth glaring. "Now don't even start that. You're the one who used to steal from the kitchen larders and always got caught."

Lance cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, mumbling," Well uh, I um. I sorta just, maybe I could've uh... well I got 'way once wid it."

Martin nodded matter-of-factly. "Yeah, that's the time I took the blame for you."

Lance crossed his arms. "Well it was I who begged father not to kill you after you ran away that time. He eventually gave in, and that saved your ungrateful ass from being striped of it's precious fur!"

The brothers laughed, just like old times. After their laughter died down, the two continued to walk, until Martin noticed that Lance's countenance shown a bit of confusion, and that he was stroking his chin thoughtfully. He addressed him. "Something wrong Lance?"

Lance licked his clops before replying, his voice quailing a tiny bit. "Well, really nothing important... just um. Well at tomorrow's initiation, master will be there... and perhaps... another guest, a mousemaid."

"Who?"

"Her name's Ezmeralda. She's his daughter... adopted daughter, that is. Since he's a squirrel, and she's a mouse. And now that I've told you, I have to ask you a favor."

Martin's face remained as stolid as ever, but inside he winced. Whenever he did a 'favor' for Lance, it usually ended up quite bad. "What?" He asked, tense.

"I'd like it if you accompanied her. I've told her quite a lot about you while I lived _there_, and she's been wanting to meet you for quite a while!"

Martin heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's all? No explosions, no thievery, no strings attached?"

"Well eh, one rule," Lance deviated his eyes from Martin a bit, as if he was looking at something behind him. "You're _not_ to tell father, mother, or anyone about her, especially Matthias. As a matter of fact, keep her far away from Grandpa. He can be a bit presumptive. Will you... do that for me?"

Martin wanted to ask more, but he figured that he'd best not pry any further than he was wanted. Instead of questioning further, he responded with a dull, "Fine."

Lance squeezed his shoulder one last time, his blue eyes bright again, as if content. "Thanks."

_The next day at the initiation, he never saw them._

* * *

The first thing Martin saw after passing the woven foliage was more foliage, but in a more natural form. He was now more in the open, in view of a less denser version of Mossflower. What struck him odd right away, were the giant trees that hovered over him, and the lack of small ones. The trees were all attached by thick cords of overhanging moss. He squinted his eyes, and in the distance saw a black object moving in between moss. He couldn't help but revere the squirrels for uniqueness. Create a village out of trees and bridges; treat everything and everyone below like an enemy until proven not so.

"Stop!" Commanded a gruff voice sternly from the boughs above. Martin did so, his acute sense of hearing catching the ominous creaking of wood above. These squirrels, he knew, were too skilled to let the trees creak under their weight. He gulped, the instinct to escape returning. It was the creaking of their bows as they arched to make room for the arrows that could kill him. He hadn't been nearly this tense the last time he came here, seasons ago to visit Lance.

As if to make Martin more wary, a giant squirrel leaped from the bough, skillfully landing in a crouched position directly in front of Martin, facing him. As he rose to his full height, he kept his eyes locked on Martin the whole time, until at last he was looking down at him, unblinking. Tattoos littered the squirrel's body almost wholly; all green, with motley insignias, the foremost being the emerald iteration of a bird around his left eye. It's beak was formed in an oval around it, and from there it's body grew, feathers acting as the squirrel's fur, it's small beady eyes lost from Martin's view at the top of the squirrel's head, and at the talons ending near the bottom of his muscular abdomen, right above a pair of faded green shorts.

Both beasts breathed easily. The peripherals of Martin's eye caught the other squirrels as they finally poked out from underneath the overhanging blanket of the upper foliage. They too, had green tattoos, but not nearly as defined, or as many as the giant squirrel.

The squirrel huffed out his nose, and then sneered, addressing Martin harshly. "What business do you have here, Martin the Incubus."

A smirk crept up the side of Martin's mouth. "So, a giant like you is made wary, even in my presence."

"You're not welcome here..."

"I'm sure I'm not, but I must see your leader."

"Wolfwood has no business traitors." The giant pulled out a small dagger from the back of his shorts. He pointed it maliciously at Martin, teeth clenched.

A feminine voice erupted from above. "Father, don't!" The creaking wood sounded again, this time a bit _tighter._

The squirrel's visage seemed to suddenly lose its strain at the cry, becoming something between desperation and realization. He mouthed the words: "Martin the Incubus...", then stepped back. He glanced at his kin above, then at Martin below, then again at his kin.

_He wants to protect them?_

Martin nodded, antagonizing further. "Killer of forty beasts in a single night, that's what they say. Do you really want your daughter to be in danger?"

Martin's infamy baffled the squirrel, eventually forcing him to do what he considered was the right thing. "I'll escort you to him now."

* * *

The inside of the leader's little hut was nothing special, except for the fact that it seemed to be in the highest tree in the village; a climb that had worn Martin out a bit. He scowled at the fact that he was already getting out of shape.

Instead of a door, the treehut had moss acting as its entrance, much like at the gate of the settlement. They entered, the first thing obvious was that it was very dark. At first, Martin thought that no beast was in there, until the giant squirrel gave a salute to the darkness. "A visitor sir, Martin the Incubus. Lance's brother."

The salute turned into a bow and the squirrel backed out the door. Another silent moment passed; the darkness and loneliness of the room pressing its weight on Martin, until finally an elderly, albeit strong voice emanated from the interior of the room. "Hello Martin, it's good to see you again."

"As it is you." Martin retorted, with a hint of vile distaste. He didn't like the old squirrel at all. Here was the beast who had shaped Lance.

The squirrel chuckled, and a flicker of light appeared in the middle of the room, giving a bit of definition to the figure. Martin could now see the elder's thin shadowy lips, locked in a mocking smirk. "What brings you to my Fortress?"

"To figure out what you taught Lance. To understand how he could fight so sensately and deftly."

Another chuckle. "Hard work... and dedication.

Martin clenched his paws. He could practically see the smirk widen. "That's the biggest load of garbage I've ever heard." The smile narrowed, and for another moment, silence pervaded the room.

"Well then, the truth is quite.. bizarre. Lance wouldn't even believe it until he... realized. Then again," The squirrel leaned a bit forward, chair creaking under the shift of weight. "You have it too, don't you. It had been dormant in Lance and I had awoken it, but it seems that yours has been alive for quite some time."

Martin arched his brow in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh don't be so ignorant. You're an observant fellow. Though, I'm sure that's only happened over the past few seasons. You are a keeper of the sixth sense."

Martin's eyes widened. "What?"

"It's the..." A pause. "It's the tingle you get down your spine when a beast attacks you from your back. It's the push the trout get when they head upstream. Of course, something like that's in everything, but yours goes much deeper, and the more you use it the stronger it becomes. You begin to feel things, to understand. While most beasts feel something wrong, you _know_ something is wrong. You can feel others around you, understand them. You can grasp nature by the paw and use it as a weapon. And at moments when you need it the most, you can alter your surroundings, both mentally and physically."

"That's impossible."

"Are you so sure? How do you think you've survived this long? I imagine that you've been... hunted... quite a lot in the past few seasons. Can you not think of one thing like this, or did you put them all off as mere... miracles, or luck?"

Martin thought for a moment, until it dawned on him. "There was one time."

"Mmm hmm."

"I was captured, and another along with me who's name was Icarus. He had believed that I murdered his mother, and detested me for that. He was hurting, sitting across from his mother's killer. I felt different then, and I looked at him. And as I looked at him, my anger grew, and his declined. He told me later that he was no longer angry, and yet I shivered with anger... an unnatural anger. At what, I knew not. But I think I...took his anger away from him."

"So you sensed it and exchanged your moods hmm? Interesting, Lance couldn't do that. His abilities lied more on 'giving' his enemies a sense of terror and loss. It delusions them, creates things that arn't there. Will he attack me from the front, or swing from the side. They might see a side attack, when he attacked from the front... the very thing that had helped me to survive in my youth. Indeed, he was very much like me. Except, you switch yin and yang. You are their shepherd, much like.. Ezmeralda."

Another silence, the sound of wind chimes tapping together lightly right out the door. "So can you help me?" Asked Martin.

The lamplight increased, and the old squirrel picked up a cane that had been leaning on his chair and made his way slowly over to Martin, until their eyes weren't an inch away.

Martin gasped when he saw the squirrel's eyes, lit up greatly by the bright lamplight. Beneath their dark exterior he could see a milky blue, and the eyes seemed to stare straight through him, instead of at him. "You're blind."

"Aye, been so since birth. But it's never hindered me, oh no."

Martin licked his lips. "So can you... help me?"

"No, I cannot. You give and I take. We might have the same source, but we are nothing alike." He began slowly. "Though, my daughter is a giver, like you. Come." The gestured for Martin to follow. "I'll take you to her, so you'll finally understand..."

* * *

_Hola! Just so you know, in your reviews, there's really no reason to correct any grammar. I don't give my chapters more than a second... sometimes third... glance. After all, it's only fanfiction. While I exercise my creative energies on it, I don't really care for perfect grammar or not. However, original fiction is totally different, and I'd want corrections then for sure. I want you to put more emphasis on 'how did it make you feel', 'was it good or bad', 'Does it further excite the story, or makes it fail'. Things like that._

_Time for a lil' copy and paste!_

_Remember to review, I mean, even a sentence saying you read it and you thought it was good/bad can go a long way for a writer's morale. Though, if you think it was bad and you don't like it, please don't say this **unless **you tell me something I can improve on. Be a critique, that's all I'm asking for, and if you don't have the time, leave a sentence. :_)

_And if you didn't know, you don't have to have a username to leave reviews to the site. So if you would, review..... Review. Review. Review. Review. The button isn't even a single scroll away._


	12. Ezmeralda

_Jade and Hera Ledro: Thank you again for the massive reviews, really helped they did!_

_Scyphi: It's good that my readers see eye to eye on things with me, so thanks for your assurance. :)_

_Foeseeker: I am writing a mystery story!... Sort of. It's not totally a mystery, but it's a sub genre defiantly. What good is a story that you know everything about? Also, if you cannot make heads or tails of this story, but it's clear to you... uh. Hmm. You sort of confused me there._

_jarrtail: I guess... though, as you'll see in this chapter, that same element of non-conformity will ring quite true... although I'm unsure as to whether I strayed too far..._

_Just a **WARNING**, you'll be seeing some pretty OOC stuff in this chapter. Brian has touched on it a few times throughout the series, but never capitalized on in, and in this chapter, I'm giving it a face, but not a name. I think Brian was right by not giving **it** a name. BTW, this is the chapter I've been a bit worried about for the past.... since chapter 7 or so, when I mapped out a good portion of the story._

_Anyway, ONWARDS!_

Ezmeralda lived in the floor below Bartholomeo. It was in many ways the opposite of the top for, the foremost quality being its abundance of light. Martin squinted his eyes as he descended the spiraling wooden stairs that groaned under his weight. The only sound Bartholomeo made was the tapping of his cane lightly against the alligatored planks that served as the steps.

The light continued to increase, until he finally came made it. When Martin's eyes finally adjusted to the light, he couldn't help but hang his jaw at all of the illuminations littered about the room. Candles were all along the room, hugging its four square walls.

"She loves light, and the creative side of life." said Bartholomeo, still staring straight ahead.

"I see..." Martin responded absently, amazed by all the embellishments. Paintings adorned the wall like a giant collage, bareing realistic attributes, ascertaining to all sides of nature. One in particular though caught Martin's attention. It was the painting of a mousemaided sitting in a chair all alone, laden with a heavy passive visage, stale in nature. What was interesting however, was that the whole picture was drawn in various shades of blue. Martin wondered if it was to depict a pale moon, filling the quiet night and the room with its peaceful light, or if the meaning was a bit deeper... as if to spell depression in the mouse's life.

Then suddenly, a memory of Lance erupted in Martin's brooding mind.

_888_

Time was kind to Matthias, only having given him a few shades of gray when his grandchildren had reached their pre-adolescent years. It was at this age in their lives, that he had decided to give them a simple test to determine what they might be when they grew older. He had often conjectured at this, through studying them as they grew. Though truly, he hadn't come to any definite decision.

He called them to his quarters, and they showed up promptly. Then he told them to stand in front of a great canvased painting. In dimension, it was easily the size of the boys in height, and its length was about as long as Matthias.

The painting itself seemed a masterpiece. It was a picture of Mossflower in all its grandeur: the left half was covered by a thick grove of trees in autumn condition, laden with motley colored leaves. Some were even in mid-flight as they twirled to the ground to make way for another batch of leaves. The right half consisted of a rolling vales, obviously right on the fringes of Mossflower wood. The hills continued onto the horizon, at times dotted with the odd blueberry bush.

Both boys held their mouths agape at the painting. Though, Matthias well knew, for different reasons. He addressed them, "Lo and behold, the largest painting of Mossflower wood at Redwall. Do you happen to know who painted it? It's something you should have learned during your abbey schooling."

Lance simply shrugged his shoulders while Martin replied, "It's a dual effort by Columbine and Gonff the Second. They painted it together whenever Gonff was away with Martin."

Matthias smiled, the tone of his voice growing a bit more stern with every passing word. "Aye, though in reality it was really to stop the young thief from stealing a bowl of Woodland Fruit Trifle from his superior..." Both Matthias and Martin's eyes flew to Lance, who fidgeted nervously with his arms akimbo, as if it was something only the trio understood. Then they all broke out into laughter which quickly died down, Matthias continuing. "Well, they painted it quite well, wouldn't you agree?"

Twin nods.

"Then, what does it mean to you two?"

Both boys sported a look of confusion, Martin asking, "What do you mean?"

"How does it make you feel; what kind of sense does it convey to you?"

Again, their young eyes studied the painting. Again, Martin was the first to respond. "Well, I think it captures the feeling of Mossflower wood perfectly, when it's peaceful. It makes sense too, the Redwallers were liberated from the claws of Tsarmina then."

Matthias nodded curtly, a wave of understanding washing over his visage. He looked to the painting reverently, lids drooping a bit. "Aye, it does. P'raps it meant a bit more in that sense to them than it means to you. Nevertheless, well said son. Now you, Lance."

At first, Lance said nothing as he continued to look the painting over and over. It was nearly a full minute before Lance spoke. "It would be a great spot for a battle, just like in the war with Cluny!" Lance turned his head and gazed at his grandfather, a belligerent glint in his eye never seen before in the mouse. He appeared poised to kill... instead of defend.

The two continued to stare at one another, and for the flicker of a moment, Matthias's countenance seemed to display a sense of terror. Though, it fled as fast as it came. After a while he sighed and turned to leave, hunched over more than usual, simply stating: "I see."

888

The memory of his grandfather's look of terror played over and over again in his mind. His reply hadn't been anything special. After all, Matthias had been the same-- somewhat. Though when he turned, and they looked at one another, something happened; a malicious alchemy had sparked. Had Matthias foreseen what Lance had been destined to become?

"Erm, Martin..."

Martin gasped, and spun around to meet Bartholomeo. "Oh, sorry. I was... that painting is very good."

"Yes, many of her paintings are quite mesmerizing and can make one think." His voice took on a more grieve-like tone. "So I am told..."

"Yeah." replied Martin half-heartedly. "So, where is she?"

"Oh, well. I must ask you something Martin; something very... different than what you've been asked before."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Martin," Bartholomeo tapped his cane lightly against the woodwork. "Do you believe in Miracles?"

Martin stared, transfixed at Bartholomeo for a moment. "Miracles...perhaps"

Bartholomeo laughed. "Oh, I suppose it isn't exactly that, but it's the only word I know that could describe it. It could be a miracle of sorts, but even that would be a grand overstatement you see."

Martin looked over the room again. There were no doors leading out. He gritted his teeth. "Where's Ezmeralda, Wolfwood?"

He continued, ignoring Martin utterly. "I told you that she was a Giver, did I not? Well, when I found her when she was very young... around the age of six seasons, I had been cut in the throat by a beast, and lost the ability to talk. As I had already said, I had only progressed upward using my ability to dazzle my enemies. Well, I had lost that. I trudged on a month more and found her, alone in a camp raided by vermin. I took her in, cared for her. Then one day, she touched that nasty scar under my chin, and when I awoke the next morning, it was gone, and my voice had returned. And that was when she began caring instead of being cared for. Though it always came at a price," he breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. "After all the excitement of the day, I had gone in to tell her, only to find that she had gained the scar I had lost, and of course, her voice became as decrepit as mine had been."

Martin remained speechless.

"So tell me Martin... is that a Miracle? And to think, it didn't end there... oh no that was just the beginning," The fire from the candlelight seemed to expand along with the squirrel's growing rage. He began to appear taller, and the cane fell to the floor. His voice became dark. "The night that you supposedly massacred the Redwallers, Lance had dragged his near dead carcass over here, and Ezmeralda immediately began tending to him. She stayed with him all the rest of the day, until she told me that he had... passed away. I had gone and seen the body, surely dead as dead could be, and I foolishly let her stay with him the next night. She loved him you see. So much that when I awoke the next morning, I found him _alive_ Martin."

The squirrel dropped to his knees, the lights dying a bit he hit the floor. The rest of his speech was laden with sobbing. "I-I woke up the next morning... to a blinding light. I was still blind then, of course, but I could feel it. Prickling my fur; a dazzling light it must have been. I grabbed my cane and walked... into this room," he pointed passively at the floor. "And saw Lance standing up, alive as one could possibly be, and Ezmeralda's soulless body in his arms. The bastard coaxed her into it, and she submitted, giving in. She _gave_ everything to him then. Except one thing... the part of her soul that made her a Giver, just like you."

Bartholomeo stopped, letting Martin soak this all in. Martin sat down, his forehead dripping light sweat. He looked at Bartholomeo. "So, I'm just like her. But I am not a Giver, like you say. I can merely exchange. That explains how I calmed Icarus, and why I got so angry in the process."

Bartholomeo shook his head and addressed the mouse. "Ezmeralda gave me a voice, and she gave Lance life, thus she is a Giver. Though, as pertains to... self sacrifice. What you did to Icarus is nothing compared to what she did, but you did give him your calmness, as thus you are a Giver."

Martin thought about this for a moment before replying, "Then, what happened to the rest of her soul?

Bartholomeo pulled out a thick, elongated silk cloth from the wall. "It's in this." He began to unwrap the linen, and when it was fully unladen, he held it up for Martin to see.

Martin's jaw quivered, and his eyes glazed over. The sight of the legendary metal blade, its embellished blue hilt, and the brilliantly polished red pommel made his eyes teary. He thought he'd never see it again.

He smiled softly as he said to himself, "So, looks like Martin's Sword never left with him after all."

888

_So yes, I just set the slate for the rest of the story._

_Also, news. I am behind a bit in my Creative Writing class (as it was eating up the schedule for this story). So I'll be having to write a fully fledged short story (original, and I have a good idea in mind) and I have a few ideas in mind. But that also means the update might come a little later than wanted. Though I'll work my head off to get it in. (My goal is usually 1 chapter a week.)_

_Review._


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